Taking the Tiger by its Fangs
by Irbis
Summary: Creed decided Irbis will keep his bed warm from now on; she decided she'd rather have her own bed somewhere else and he's welcome to keep it warm. So she takes off to New York to get herself a place he can crash whenever he wishes... but ends up in a half-way job at a school for mutants. What could possibly go wrong? Ch15: Liability. And that's the end! For now.
1. First Letter

Last week, Portugal became the Champion of Europe in the Football / Soccer Championship.

Naturally, I put up an extra chapter to celebrate.

This week, Portugal became the Champion of Europe in the Hockey Championship!

Congratulations!

And naturally, I'm putting up an extra chapter to celebrate.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

This is the continuation of the story _Dancing to the Sound of Death_ , the 4th installment in my Irbis-Creed saga.

At the end of that story, Creed found out that his new housekeeper, Irbis, was crushing badly on him and decided to take full advantage of it. She wasn't too keen on the idea and managed to exchange her compliance to become his new sex toy for his permission to find her own house.

This is the last installment of the current saga.

* * *

This story starts a few weeks / months after the events in the first few issues of Astonishing X-Men, including Colossus being rediscovered alive. More exactly, it happens shortly after Exodus's attack, the arrival of X-23 and the departure of Sage. Jubilee is currently living with her newly discovered aunt Hope in LA, but will soon have to return to Westchester.

* * *

 **1\. First Letter**

 _Friday, 19 of October_

 _Hello._

 _I'm good and I hope you are good too. In first place, I want you to now I didn't escape you and that I do_ _not_ _want to escape. I'm going to maintain my promises until the end. By that reason, I left my Portuguese guitar. Is my more precious possession, and I leave it with you to show that I did not escape and that I don't want escape._

Irbis took a deep breath, thinking about the guitar. She had barely played it, and it had hurt to leave it behind, especially knowing that it risked being destroyed. But she must leave a strong indication, telling Creed she was not running away. Still, she feared for the guitar's well-being.

 _In second place, I'm sorry by the mistakes and bad English._

 _I arrived to New York today and I went to a school that helps mutants. They were a bit suspicious but they accept me._ _BUT_ _I do_ _not_ _want to stay here for very time. I ask to stay living until I find a house in a city near, where I can be independent and have absolute privacity. They accept me to work like helper of the cooks and to take care of the horses. I gave myself a time limit: in a month, I want my house and be capable to receive you._

She had to admit she hadn't been very sure at first. All she had known was that she couldn't stay in Wausau or the man would slowly suck her into an incarcerated life under his whims, no matter what he proclaimed in his agreements. On the other hand, if she got on with more people – even if only work colleagues – then she had a foot in the real world, outside the universe of hitmen and mercenaries.

Would he think of killing any people she made contact with? Once again, she wasn't sure. He could have killed the library security guard and he hadn't, after all. But then again, that had been in Wausau, where he risked attracting attention to his precious safe house. Here in New York... well, for as long as he didn't see any contacts she made as a threat to his supposed dominion over her, things should go smoothly.

 _I suppose you want now details, but I don't have a lots to say (I only arrive today). I told them that I was used by a laboratory to test things and that I escaped and that I want remake my life, but in hide._

She had been worried about it. Still, she had chosen the Institute precisely because they accepted people escaping persecution, according to their website. She had gone to the testimony section and there had been a student, anonymous, naturally, who had claimed that he had been rescued from a group who had wanted to steal his mutant organs and that he finally felt safe. Well, her story wasn't really that different, was it?

The only difficulty had been when she had refused to say names.

"Dey think I'm dead," she had told the headmaster, a man constantly wearing reddish sunglasses. "If I say who dat dey are and you investigate, dey know dat someone is alive."

"I understand your concern, Ms. Martin," he'd answered her. "But can you live with your conscience knowing that those men will continue their actions? That you could have put an end to it but decided to sentence innocent people to suffer at their hands?"

They knew how to manipulate people, she'd thought. "De program ended, Mister Summers. Everybody was killed. If dey know dat someone has information about de program, is because someone wasn't killed."

"How did you escape," the woman had asked. Oro Munroe, or something of the sort. Her first name might be strange and difficult to understand, but her appearance was impossible to mistake: a tall, athletic woman with beautiful black skin, intense blue eyes, and amazing white hair.

"Destiny," she had said, not looking at them. "I almost died..."

She hadn't added any details. Instead, she'd forced some tears up, thinking about the happy life she'd lost, her family.

"But you didn't come immediately to us," she'd added.

"No. I work like illegal." Finally she had looked up, straight at the woman. It was easier to face her because she could lock her gaze on the woman's, while the man's sunglasses left her uncomfortable. "But I'm afraid to be illegal. I have false documents, but if police discovers... I don't know. So I think, you help people in difficult situations... I only want a job. I find a house so fast like I can, and I work. I want be secure."

 _They believed me._

Despite some suspicion. On the other hand, she hadn't been asking for terribly much. Unfortunately, they couldn't really pay her a normal salary. They accepted students for free, although their families were free to make donations, which made them a non-profit organisation. The majority of the staff wasn't there as simply employees, but as refugees from the mutant-hating world outside. In a way, they were there under similar conditions to the students. As it was, they didn't receive a true salary, simply having their needs attended to. On the other hand, they could put in a good word with some of their contacts so that she could get a secure job somewhere else, as a true employee.

"But it will take some time to find an adequate position for you," Mr. Summers, the headmaster, had warned her.

"I understand. I take de opportunity to show my value here when I wait."

Which meant that the house she hoped to have in a month might end up somewhere else entirely. Not that Victor Creed needed to know that. At least not just yet.

 _Was only one problem: I had to let the their doctor see me. I don't say no because I now is suspicious so I went to the consultory of the doctor. He's name is Doctor Henk Macoi (I don't now how to write the name, I just hear it). He's obviously a mutant because he has got blue fur and has the appearance of a cat. I think he has haiten (I can't find this word in the dictionary, sorry) senses like you because he smells things and people, so I'm very careful about lies. I said the doctor that I don't give blood to test because I don't want more tests._

He had actually been very nice and, despite his chattiness, easier to understand since he used so many words which were similar to Portuguese words. He had started by asking her her medical history, once the white-haired woman and a man apparently made of glass had left, laughing over the doctor's hound nose. She hadn't understood the joke, and she sure as hell didn't know what a hound was, but the word 'nose' reminded her of nothing but Creed's heightened sense of smell.

"I never had children sicks," she had said softly, afraid to arise suspicion, yet worried about the possibility of having to strip for a medical examination which she still hoped to avoid. "And de only medical problem in my family is heart, in my grandparents."

She didn't think it was important to mention her great-aunt's Alzheimer. "Normally, I don't have winter sicks and when I have cuts, dey cure fast."

"What about diabetes, cholesterol and blood pressure?" She had shaken her head decidedly. But what if he saw the bruises? He'd start suspecting that she was only saying half-truths.

"Is your vaccination up to date?"

"I don't now off certain. I have all vaccines until last year... I think I need tehtunoo vaccine in some years."

"Tetanus?" He had ascertained. "Right. Anything else?"

It was now or never. "I... a man attack me because off my bag." Creed had been pretending to be a thief, so it wasn't really a lie. "I have my neck all black because off dat."

The doctor had immediately lost his friendly smile as he asked her permission to see the area. She had only remembered the bite mark too late, once she had unbuttoned the collar.

"My stars and garters! Is this an animal bite?"

"Yes," she'd answered embarrassedly, since Creed had called himself an animal. "But he was playing, is not problem."

The doctor hadn't shared her opinion on that, but she had put an end to the examination and rebuttoned her collar. Curiously, she didn't have trouble refusing permission for further examination.

"I am not sick, Doctor MacCoy," and she'd been extra soft as she explained her point. "I don't know if Mr. Summers say you something, but I was... I was a rat of laboratory and I don't want more medical tests."

 _He tryed convince me that I can trust him, and I didn't say yes or no. He insisted a bit with blood tests, but you now I'm stubborn. But I promise that, if I'm sick, I ask his help imediately. He was not very happy but accepted. He said that he hopes to win my trust soon._

However, the true issue hadn't been trust. After all, the medical information he wanted about her was something that she wouldn't even tell a priest in the confessionary. It was something strictly between her and God. And Creed, naturally.

 _They are nice but, of course, they have more things to think than me. Are many students here and I'm not mutant so... I don't hope to have problems._

She wondered for a second if Creed could tell if someone was lying while writing; if the tell-tale smell would stick to the paper. Well, she'd risk it: she was not going to write that she was expecting problems. Especially because she wasn't sure herself if she wasn't exaggerating natural signs of caution.

If Irbis were honest, only the doctor had been truly nice to her. The others – the headmaster Mr Summers, the white haired Ms Munroe, the teacher and librarian Xi'an, the teacher Danielle Moonstar, the man made of glass – they had been polite, not nice. But as she had written in the letter, the Institute was full of mutants and she wasn't one of them, which meant she automatically became less important to them. And it wasn't necessarily a bad thing! She'd have more freedom of action if she was little noted.

However, what had actually given her a bad feeling was meeting her soon to be work colleagues: the cooks. They were mostly women and had been truly friendly. Up to the point when, being alone with them and getting instructions about her upcoming functions, someone had asked her about her powers.

"I'm sorry, powers?"

"Yeah, honey. Your mutant powers."

A block of ice growing in her stomach, she'd explained she wasn't mutant.

"Oh, so you came with a family member then?" Janelle, one of the youngest cooks had asked. "We had a nurse who came with her son, but then she got involved with Mr Summers's brother and she couldn't handle the pressure. Didn't stay formore than a few months."

"Yeah, it isn't very common for folks to come here to stay with their kids. But you seem a bit too young for having kids of your own; I bet you came with your brother or sister, didn't you?"

"No," she had nearly whispered. "I came alone."

The expressions had shown incredulity in the first minute, then they changed to open suspicion.

 _To say the true, I want make one or two friends but not near friends and I think that is not going to be difficult._

There. He could start getting used to the idea that she'd have acquaintances besides him, and that they wouldn't be a threat to his supposed dominion.

 _I have my cell phone that you gave me so you can contact me when you want. I hope receive a message of you soon._

 _Good bye and until soon,_

 _Irbis_

 _P.S.: Here, I use the name and documents of Isabel Martins, but I continue to be Irbis to you._

Irbis started re-reading the letter. She hoped the English wasn't too bad and weakly considered checking every word in the dictionary. She glanced over at the thick book on the desk. She'd spent ages trying to find the word 'heightened' and all for nothing. No, it was a waste of time and the man would surely be able to read it even if there were spelling mistakes, he wasn't stupid. Irbis skipped to the end of the letter (it was really too long to bother re-reading everything). She ought to use his first name, Victor, but it still felt awkward to use it. On the other hand, it might help soften his anger once he realised she was gone, even if only temporarily.

 _... I continue to be Irbis to you, Victor._

There. And no need to rewrite everything again. She sighed. The next day would be Saturday but she'd find a way to go into town and drop the letter to Wausau in a post box. She looked at her watch: it was 2 in the morning already. She hid the letter in an inner coat of her jacket and then picked up the letter drafts. They couldn't be left about to be discovered, so she went to the bathroom, filled up the washbasin with water and pushed the paper in.

It took much longer for it to dissolve than she had expected, but she wasn't particularly sleepy. First of all, her heart was still pounding with her decision to leave Wausau. Secondly, she couldn't deny feeling apprehensive about her new home: she held such high hopes and expectations! And then there were the memories of her last night with Creed. No, Victor. She had to get used to calling him by his first name.

It was nearly four when she finally laid down on the bed, the mattress neither soft nor hard. The room was to be shared by two people, but for now she had it all to herself. It was neither small nor big; two beds, one on each side of the window, each bed having a companion bedside-table, desk, chair and wardrobe. The house – no, the school, she corrected herself. The school was so silent despite the hundreds and hundreds of people living there.

Irbis closed her eyes and tried to quiet the thoughts, doubts, hopes and fears running wild inside her head. She wished she had her guitar with her, so that she could play some calming tune. Without even thinking, her right hand started playing a melody on the bed, just like she used to do when she wasn't sleepy, at home. Just like she used to do when she had nightmares and the piano at Creed's Wausau home wasn't available.

Like in Dallas. And she remembered his relaxed profile, looking at the TV while she desperately wanted to get his attention. Like in that little town near Salt Lake City, after he had picked her up from the desert, when he had overheard her singing...

She had done it on purpose, then. Singing loudly. Still she hadn't really sung freely, since she hadn't wanted to catch the attention of other people staying in the motel, only his. Just like she had caught his attention when she had refused to accept his water and had killed that bird to drink its blood. What had she been thinking when she did that?! The devil had surely possessed her to make her act that way.

Irbis sighed, remembering his golden eyes, ice burning through her. His hand – huge, and strong, and warm, and... – snaked around her neck. She let her own hand go over the bruised skin – and she could have sworn that, that morning when Creed had pretended to be a thug attacking her, he hadn't grabbed her neck that hard. Then her fingertips touched the point where he had bitten her. Playfully, of course; he'd probably have bitten off half her neck, hadn't it been playfully. For a moment she fancied she could feel his hot breath on her skin again; and his kiss, hungry and hard; and his teeth, sinking in with a mixture of pain and pleasure that once more made her body arch and shudder in uncanny delight.

Groaning, she tossed around, trying to escape the memories in vain. Finally she gave it up. "The memory's still too fresh," she told herself. She decided there was no point in fighting it so she got up and got dressed, choosing a blouse that thoroughly covered the marks on her neck. Then she headed downstairs, knowing the other cooks wouldn't be up yet, and decided to check on the horses before it was time to start on the breakfast.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	2. Second Letter

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **2\. Second Letter**

 _Monday, 22 October_

 _Hello, Victor._

 _How are you? I'm good and I hope you are good too._

 _Was a long wekend. I think the chef cook don't like me. She wants dat I help wiht brekfast from 5 at 9, and then help with lunch from 10 at 3, and then wiht diner from 5 at 10. But I have to treat the horses, too. The hedmaster sayed that I don't have to help with brekfast, because the majority of people only eat milk and cireals and bread, so isn't very work. Now I get up and treat the horses. Then I help wiht lunch and wiht cleane after diner. I have 5 hours free, from 3 at 8._

 _But the chef cook dosen't like me: she complaines of everythink I do and says that they don't need another cook, especially someone that dosen't cook in balk. But I think is because I'm the only cook that isn't mutant. The other cooks don't like me too, and the students. But I don't want to now: I do my work and whene they say I'm doing somethink wrong I do like they say, and in everything else ignore them. I don't need that they like me, so is not a problem if they don't like me, rihgt?_

 _Is one more person that isn't mutant here. She tried kill mutants with a bomb, but now she understands that was wrong. The students are bad to her. I saw her in the library and I was sympathic to her, but she was studying Law and told me to go away. The librarian is a teacher too. She's sympatic but always very busy._

Irbis stopped and read what she had written so far. This second letter was coming off much faster than the first one (and with much less dictionary use, too), even if Creed hadn't answered yet. Of course he probably hadn't received it yet either. Well, the more he had to read – assuring him she hadn't tried to run off on him with her move to New York – the sooner he'd stop being angry that she was out of his immediate reach. At least her constant letters could give him the impression she was willing to keep her every day life under his scrutiny.

The question was how much she wanted to be under his scrutiny? Should she tell him about all the events of the last three days? She hesitated a moment more then went to the dictionary to search for the word she required.

 _I am tempted to hide some of the situations I faced, but I promise you honesty. I was almost atacked today. I was in the library, alone, and some students entred. They were hapy and say jokes, but then they saw me._

The pen hesitated in the air as Irbis recalled the moment.

 _I go be honest: I don't like this school. I am not necessary. Sometimes I think I'm not even convenient, like I was to you. But I am here because of money to pay my house, where I can recive you, so is not important that they need me._

There was no fear that he might smell the lie, just like there was no point in saying that feeling unnecessary hurt more than a beating, for a beating only lasted that long, and the pain of being unnecessary was constantly cutting into her heart. But, while before she had had no purpose in her life, she now had one – to gain the means to be independent – so she had a life buoy keeping her from becoming immersed in the pain.

 _I didn't give the kids importance whene they entred. I was read in the newspaper information about houses and they passed and one spited in the newspaper._

The teenager had probably wanted to spit on her, but had missed his target. Should she reveal how suddenly alive she had felt at the upcoming confrontation? How strong she had felt as she faced those imbecile punks, thinking themselves so high and mighty? How she had felt nothing but contempt at them, comparing their angry baby-glares to the fierceness of Creed's dangerous glare?

 _One sayed that I didn't bilong there because I wasn't mutant and called me a name offensive. I don't remember the word but isn't important because I don't understand the word too. The others agree and start insult me. They looked like baby gorillas: they puted their chests out and threatened me and took me the newspaper from my hands._

She had not been afraid for a moment. As a matter of fact, she had thought their display so ridiculous she hadn't been able to avoid a scornful smirk and had barely choked a laugh. It had taken the youths aback for a single moment, and enraged them further. One had made a display of his powers, setting his head on fire, and the others switched to physical threats.

 _I sayed to them: You want atack a defenceless person that works in the school? You really want be expelled? I didn't get up because I think could provoke them to atack, and was a good decision. One of the boys throwed the table away and made a entire bookcase fall!_

Oh, how her blood had boiled. She had got up then and hadn't even bothered to glare at them. Of course she knew the punks were too young and inexperient to measure – or even consider – the consequences of acting on their words, which did make them dangerous. On the other hand, they were nothing compared to Creed's level of danger.

"You think you're in a school for terrorists?"

"You're the terrorist, flatscan," the burning-head had yelled. "And you're gonna regret it in no time!"

That one was too willing to start something, so she had grabbed the collar of her blouse and yanked it open, letting them see her bruised neck and a few teeth marks near her collar bone. The kids couldn't have possibly known they were 'affection marks'. On the other hand, it might have impressed them more had they known it. Anyway, the unexpected action had earned her some time.

"I saw _real_ mutants kill babies like you and laugh!" She hadn't, but the people she had seen killed – the people _he_ had killed – died as surely as helpless babies, whether mutant or not. "You think you are ready to play wid hate? You ready to _kill you_ proper wid hate?"

They had hesitated a moment and she hadn't been able to stop the scorn.

"Terrorrist! De day you see a real terrorist ready to kill you, you cry like babies." And as the insult fuelled their anger anew, she snarled at them, Creed's growl alive at her ears, making her see she was no psycopath: "You think _real_ terrorists want know if you're mutant or not? They want an excuse to kill and torture. Mutant, black, childrens, dogs... is all de same. Is de _blood_ dey want."

 _I got up and call them babies, sayed that they didn't now what is hate. And then the librarian arrived to see what had been the noise. She understood imediatly what had hapened and sended the three kids to the hedmaster. And me. I think they stayed impressed that I didn't have afraid and that I faced them._

She had felt contempt at their patronising surprise but had lowered her head and said nothing. After all, Creed was far more patronising at times. On the other hand, when she did surprise him positively, he would award her one of those mischievous grins... or a serious, silent inspection that spoke of rough approval rather than condescension.

 _They sugested that I speak wiht the students about the importance of not hate humans, like humans shouldn't hate mutants. I don't want, but I acept. I think could make them suspicious of me if I sayed no. I don't now what I go say. I can only say that hate kills people inside and out, and is not about mutants._

Irbis closed her eyes, remembering her grandfather Paulo. Her father's father. She felt tears on her eyes but it wasn't because of him, just because of the life he had been a part of and which was lost for her. But she wouldn't let the letter get the smell of tears, so she controlled herself. Still, the memory burnt inside her.

 _You can laugh but I'm afraid of hate. My father died when I was a baby, in a car acident. My grandfather Paulo (the father of my father) never acept that the police sayed the guilt was of my father because he had drank some beers. He hated everyone after that. And he hated me too, because I was in the car but he died and I lived. He never talked wiht my mother after the funeral, and it hurt my grandmother (the mother of my father) very mutch. He had three sons, but after my father died he forgot the others; and because they talked wiht my mother, he stoped talk with them. He hurt more people than the death of my father, and for very more time. Hate destroyed him and his family._

Irbis shook her head.

 _I'm sorry, I'm boring you wiht this story. You probably want to now about the house. I didn't discover a house yet, but I only started. Until the end of the week, I wait chose a house._

 _Good bye and until soon,_

 _Irbis_

Irbis re-read the letter and felt satisfied with it. She considered cutting off the paragraph about her family history, but decided an intimate confidence might help her cause. Looking at the watch, she was happy to see it was barely midnight. This second letter, although slightly longer than the first, had taken much less time. Once more, she hid it in the inner pocket of the coat. The following day, she had been given the day off but she had decided that she'd take care of the horses before leaving: people in the Institute might not need her, but the horses surely needed her.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	3. Making Friends

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **3\. Making Friends**

The sun had just risen when Irbis started scrubbing the last horse, an old gelding named Amadeus. The other three, a group of playful young geldings, named Dalton, Watson and Paint, had already been taken to the field where they calmly spent most of the day. Indeed, calm was the operative word for these horses: ever since making their acquaintance, Irbis had seen no signs of a willy or dominant personality in any of the animals. They were as gentle and docile as could be hoped for.

Humming a light tune as she finished scrubbing the Apaloosa, Irbis faced the saddle. In Portugal, she'd ridden horses with English saddles, for general horse-riding lessons, but also with Portuguese saddles, when going off into the fields with other workers as well as in shows and competitions. But for as similar as Portuguese and western saddles might look, they still had a few differences. She had spent nearly an hour figuring how to get a horse ready for a ride using the different type of saddle, girth and reigns. In a way, she'd have preferred if someone had given her a heads up; on the other hand she was embarrassed about asking anyone for help: she was an experienced rider, after all.

The girth being tightened, Irbis put on the bridle and adjusted the stirrups to her size, then led the horse out of the barn. There was still no one outside and she felt at peace. It had been about half a year since she had last ridden a horse, but it had felt like an entire lifetime ago. With an agile movement, she mounted Amadeus and led him silently towards the pasture. She had already ridden Dalton and Watson, and planned on riding Paint the following day. Since the horses spent most of the day out in the field, she felt they had plenty of exercise and that a one hour ride every four days was enough, for the time being.

"Well, well," Irbis looked sharply around to see a man in a cowboy hat smoking a cigar. "I could've sworn Summers had said ya was takin' the day off."

She deadpanned. When she'd asked for the day off, she had assured the headmaster that she'd take care of the horses in the morning before leaving. Yes, he had said it wasn't necessary to worry about it, but she would never have left the horses unattended the whole day.

"I said to Mister Summers dat I take care off de horses before I go," she explained, a bit embarrassed over the misunderstanding.

The man grinned, his blue eyes analysing her in a way that reminded her of Creed. "There was no need fer it. If ya got the day off, someone else will take care of 'em. There's plenty o' folks around t'do it."

She immediately disliked him, but it didn't stop the pang of hurt at the idea that her presence and absence in the stables meant little or nothing.

"An English rider, huh?"

Irbis had ridden her first horse when she was 9 months old, at her grandfather's lap. She had been on top of a horse more often than on the ground, after that. However, she had only ridden on a western saddle a couple of times and now she wished she had had more practice. The posture that came the most naturally to her made the saddle feel uncomfortable, and forcing a different posture to better fit the saddle felt awkward. Still, she knew she would get the hang of it quickly enough. She just hadn't expected to have someone grinning at her inexperience.

"These horses ain't schooled fer dressin' an' stuff, ya know."

"Yes, I know," she said, doing her best to hide both embarrassment and wounded pride.

"So," he insisted, still an easy grin on his lips and an amused gleam on his eyes, "it may help if ya speak. Especially wi'these four horses... just say walk or trot an' they'll obey immediately."

"Yes, I discovered dat already," she patted the horse's neck as a way to calm herself.

"Well, since ya've done the job fer me, I guess I got some time t' kill." He bit down on the cigar and glanced at the other three horses, munching indolently in the field. "D'ya mind if I join ya fer a ride?"

Yes, obviously, duh! "Uh... If you want..."

"Great. Go on ahead then, and I'll catch up with ya in no time."

Irbis led the horse towards the trees, conscious that the rough looking man would soon join her to interrogate her. She still felt disheartened at the man's implication that they didn't really need her to look after the animals. She patted Amadeus. Sure she loved a lively, willy horse; sure she loved making them submit and obey her; sure she loved working with the horse as one, whether to round up cattle or to provide an inspiring show. But those gentle, untaught horses needed her attention. Determinedly, she pushed back any other possibility. The horses needed her.

* * *

Irbis rushed through the corridors; she was late. She'd ended up spending much longer riding than she had planned because she hadn't had the nerve to tell Mr. Logan that it was time to go back. And the man hadn't even talked much! Yes, he'd tried to ascertain where she was from and any other details he could gather, but he hadn't asked any direct questions. He hadn't asked almost any questions.

"Ya started ridin' real young, huh," had been one of the most direct questions.

All in all, a waste of time for both of them: he had got her late; and she had given him only moronic 'hun' answers.

She had almost reached the front door when a teenage girl got in front of her with a Cheshire cat smile. "Hey there, you're Isabel, right?"

Taking a deep breath to keep her hurry out of sight, Irbis nodded with a non-committed smile of her own.

"You're in a hurry or something?" The girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, had marked Asian features, but unexpectedly blue eyes. However, the most conspicuous thing about her was the yellow raincoat; it screamed 'look at me' all over.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I am going to town."

Her smile grew exponentially. "Great. I'll do my best to keep you company then! Where are your wheels?"

Irbis felt like groaning. On the other hand, it was the first time someone was paying her attention. Sure, it was a teenager but... well, anything would be better than nothing. And the girl certainly looked like a better company than Mr. Logan. She would just have to post the letter when she wasn't looking.

"What's your name?"

"Jubilee," she chirped, her voice bubbling with cheerfulness. "But you can call me Jubes."

"Well, we have to wait a little by de taxi," she explained. "I don't have a car."

She hadn't wanted to risk bringing anything that might connect her to Wausau. However, the need to go into town regularly had her considering getting a less expensive means of transport than the taxi. Maybe she ought to invest in a bicycle.

"You're joking! Hey, I got a brand new scooter; won't you rather hitch a hike with me?"

Hmm... a scooter had some advantages over the bicycle – speed, mostly – but it would also require a bigger expense both when purchasing and when fueling.

"Yes, thank you, Jubilee."

The girl responded energetically and immediately got hold of her arm. "I've heard so much about you," she finally revealed. "Scott was going on about someone facing these three lil' punks who, like, go about looking for trouble everywhere they go and I was like, what, the Californian almost-turned-bomber? And he was like 'course not, the new one, and I was like what new one? 'Cause I hadn't heard about no new arrivals, but with all the new arrivals every other day, it's hard to keep track of student arrivals and non-student arrivals, right? So anyway..."

The teenager, Jubilee, spoke much too fast for her to fully follow the drift, but Irbis managed to get the essential: she had heard of her standing up against the three kids and had been either curious or impressed, Irbis wasn't sure which. When the duo got to the garage, Irbis immediately spotted the scooter. It was a little blue thing that, side by side with the teenager's cheerful laid-back attitude, had Irbis reconsidering the wisdom of accepting the lift. On the other hand, it was free: you can't very well argue with that type of advantage.

"... and then I snooped around to get my hands on the kids' behaviour report – 'cause all the kids here that get into big trouble (and getting all yuppity on non-mutants counts as, like, _seriously_ huuuuuuge trouble), so those kids get their information filed up in these reports that Scott and Emma lock up in their office and..."

Soothingly, the sound of the engine drowned her voice. Amazingly, she became aware that Irbis wouldn't be able to hear her and whipped her head back. "We won't be able to talk while I'm driving 'cause of the noise. But don't worry: we'll get to the mall in absolutely no time!"

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	4. Oops

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **4\. Oops**

 _Thursday, 25 of October_

It was a cold evening. Irbis had barely eaten any dinner – her paleness and her anxious stomach providing all the proof she might have wanted to claim some sort of indigestion. Nevertheless, the empty stomach didn't complain for food. If she just closed her eyes, she could be right back in Dallas, Creed – Victor – telling her it was the adrenaline's fault. Telling her it happened to all amateurs. Fidgeting lazily with the pen, Irbis forced herself to look back at the paper. For the fifth time she took a deep breath and readied the pen just half an inch above the paper; and for the fifth time she sighed in her indecision. Say what? Apologise how? Fix the problem... when?

She shivered and her mind forced her to acknowledge that the room was getting freezing. Glancing around her, her eyes spotted the air-conditioning control. "You're such a masochist," she told herself off; but she still didn't switch on the heat. "I'm not used to it," she frowned at herself. "Plus, it's unhealthy." Despite hesitating abandoning the desk, she got up and fetched a cardigan.

Creed – Victor – would have probably laughed at her. He'd have told her that, come winter, she'd want nothing but the air conditioning up and burning. In her mind, she straightened up and answered that winter asks for central heating or, better yet, a good fireplace. That's what she had grown up to, after all: thick layers of woollen clothes, a good fireplace, and plenty of good old-fashioned work to get the blood running and well warmed up. And the best option of all, a strong pair of arms enveloping her body. His strong arms, his sexy growling, his tender kissing, his loving protection.

"Stop it," she warned herself aloud. Her mind kept trying to paint her image of Victor Creed in radically different colours from the reality and she could not let that happen. Infatuated or head over feet, she couldn't sugar-coat the man's real character. Strong arms and sexy growling, true; but she could never forget that his kissing was rough and hungry, that his protection would never be anything but obsessive and jealous.

And she couldn't avoid the confrontation either. She chuckled. Confrontation! She didn't even know if he had found out she had left Wausau. God only knew when he would get her letters. Anyway, the harm was done; there was no point crying over spilt milk.

Irbis picked up the pen and breathed out.

 _I sayed you that I come to this school because I can have a job here and don't have afraid about false documents because the majority of people here don't have true documents. I thouhgt that it was only what sayed that was: a school for mutants. Today I was talking wiht a girl and she says that this school belongs to the X-Men._

 _I am sorry. But I didn't now and that is the true: you can smell that I say the true. I never had come here if I now that this school was where the X-Men lieve. Now I have to arrange the problem. Unhapilly is not fast of resolve. If was possible, I leave today. But that is suspicious, so I have to wait. I am not searching of house now because any house I find is too close of here. Mister Samars say he has contacts in many places and I tell him, please, a place in California because are many Portuguese in California. California is enouf far, rihgt?_

 _I am very sorry._

 _Irbis_

She closed the letter and put it in the envelope. She'd have to go into town the next day to post it, but such visits to town had become so common that she just borrowed the car that Mr. Summers had allowed her to drive – thanks to Jubilee's intervention – whenever she needed to go anywhere.

Irbis had been at the school for a week – seven days, exactly – and she wasn't sure when Creed – Victor – would find out she was gone. The next day, when she went into town, she'd look for a church and would light up a candle to Our Lady of Fatima, asking for her protection. Asking her to keep Creed busy for a month or two until she had her situation thoroughly settled. Not Creed, Victor. She had had no idea, really. Not until Jubilee had started telling her all about the good ol' days when she used to go everywhere with the team and how she used to be Wolverine's partner. Her world – barely freshly remade – had come crashing down into a great pile of disappointment.

The knock on the door was unexpected and she froze, holding her breath. It was nearly 11 at night; who on earth could it be? Then there was a second knock and Jubilee's voice whispered through: "Isabel? You're awake?"

Her heart beat normalising, Irbis quickly got up and slid the letter into her coat's inner pocket. Then she opened the door to an uncharacteristically unsure Jubilee.

"Is a problem," Irbis asked, mildly worried over the unexpected visit and the girl's apprehension.

"No, I mean... uh... may I come in?"

Irbis opened the door after the slightest hesitation and the teenage girl walked in slowly, her gaze going over every little thing in the bedroom, which made Irbis feel happy for not having anything personal in plain sight. Except the open dictionary on the desk and the pen next to it. It might not be particularly personal, but it might beg some unwanted questions.

As if she had heard her thoughts, Jubilee wandered towards the desk and played with the thick volume, flipping blindly through the pages. Although she was curious and the girl had come all the way of her own accord, Irbis didn't ask anything. Instead, she sat on her bed and waited.

"Are we, like... friends?"

That was a strange question for a teenager to ask a grown woman she had known for three days. More than that, however, it was a delicate question.

"I don't know," she answered. "But wid time, we'll see."

"Right," she mumbled, narrowing her eyes and focusing all her attention on the dictionary while her brain analysed something.

If there had been a traditional analog clock in the room, Irbis was sure its tick-tack would have been heard for an eternity. The image of Creed – Victor – back on her mind, she decided that it might be dangerous for her to become friends with anyone that either belonged or had belonged to the X-Men. A wave of sadness washed over her, but it was the sensible thing to do.

"I talked wid mister Samars," she broke the silence. "I don't want stay in New York."

It got her attention. The girl looked up and frowned. "Why not?"

"Too people. Too confusion."

It seemed the spell had been broken. Jubilee pulled the chair away from the desk and straddled it. "Pity. You're a good listener."

The smile twitched a corner of her mouth. The day after their trip to the mall, Jubilee had tracked her down and spent nearly three hours literally yapping about anything and everything. Irbis had not let on that the long, winding speech was much too fast and convoluted for her to fully understand details; she just got an inaccurate approximation of its content. On that same day, Jubilee had sat on a fence talking while she took care of the horses.

"I always was a good listener," she revealed.

Resting a thoughtful chin on her arms, Jubilee breathed out. "Wolvie's suspicious of you."

Her heart missed a beat.

"He says you're hiding something and that that story of yours is, like, fishy at best."

Fishy, uh? "He is correct."

The girl hesitated. "Huh... he is?"

Irbis got up. The warmth she had felt towards the girl had grown cold; which was all for the best. She could not make any friends here; she couldn't even make lasting connections.

"I am hiding _me_ ," she said. "And about my story... my story is only de pieces dat I think is ok tell."

Jubilee looked back seriously, the childish teenager Irbis had met gone and replaced by... she couldn't tell who or what. That was a part of the girl that the chattiness no doubt hid from most people.

"Your friend is suspicious. He can smell if I say a lie or a true, right? Well, tomorrow, you can tell him to come and smell de true off what I say: I am not here to tell anyone about me and my life; but I am not here to say lies and treason people dat trust me. You want to tell me secrets? I promise you, Jubilee; I give you my word off honour: I never, never tell your secrets to no one. In no situation."

"Woah!" She grinned, but not her usual carefree grin as she was clearly trying to scatter the growing tension. "No need to get ruffled. When Wolvie's in a bad mood, he'll suspect his own shadow. Relax!"

But the tension was still strong in the air. "So why you come here?"

She shrugged and looked away. "I didn't have anything better to do, I suppose."

"Do not lie."

Jubilee arched an eyebrow in a way that reminded her of the rough Mr Logan. "You got heightened senses all of a sudden, huh?"

Irbis sighed, controlling her irritation.

"Look, I was just listening to Scott and Hank and Wolvie talking about you and I realised that I've told you tonnes of stuff about me, but you haven't, like, said a word about yourself. And I was just wondering... I don't know. Why you're so reserved and stuff, I guess. I know you've been used for a lab rat and all, and... well, I just wanted to let you know that there's lots of people here that know what it feels like to go to hell and back. And some know it, like, _literally_. So, if you ever want to, like, talk or anything..."

Irbis felt the barrier between them grow thicker. That was an offer she would never – could never – accept. Besides, if anyone knew she had fallen for a sociopath like Creed...

"Thank you." It was all she could say, really. "I will remember dat."

"Right," Jubilee got up, looked around once more. "I guess you wanna hit the sheets and sleep off the rest of your indigestion, huh?"

Irbis forced a smile. "Yes, I think I should sleep, right?"

"Then I'll get off your hair," her carefree smile was back on as Jubilee walked over to the door and waved cheerfully. "Nighty night!"

The bedroom felt suddenly colder. Irbis sat on the bed for a minute, then she let herself fall onto her side. She had got herself into such a mess.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	5. The Last Letter

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **5\. The Last Letter**

 _Friday, 19 of December_

 _Hello._

 _Amadeus is sik. You rimember Amadeus? Are four horses in the school, and the more old is Amadeus. He is a short Apaloosa, is very quiet and very docil. The veterinary is here and say that he is old and the prognostic is not good. This is why this letter is very short, because I'm wiht Amadeus in the box. The veterinary and everyone say is not necessary, but I can't leave Amadeus alone. He needs me._

 _Tomorow is Saturday and I go to town only to put this letter in the mail, because of you, Victor._

 _You already see all my letters? If yes, please say me something. I know you are engry, but you now that I am sory and that I am trying to resolve the problem. Please send me a menssage of text._

There were over fifteen envelopes on the couch and many more crumbled sheets of paper littered the floor. It was almost a blasted diary of her life, especially after she'd realised _where_ she was. Stupid asshole.

Growling, Creed got up and paced the living room. He shouldn't have messed up with her, saying she'd have to pay him to crash his house. He hadn't meant it, obviously! Where would she get the money? And when she'd started talking about getting her own place… He knew she couldn't keep a job if she had to up and leave whenever he showed up. He had laughed, imagining the news that she'd got a job! Imagining finishing up whatever job he might have at the time and hurrying over just so she had to go back to the house and drop the freshly gotten job. No way she could get her own place like that.

Unfortunately, the girl had probably guessed he intended to undermine whatever she tried to do. She was only smart when she shouldn't, after all. I mean, getting herself into the X-assholes' middle without knowing it? How could she be so smart for some things, and so dumb for the rest?

He kicked one of the crumbled pages. His silence, however, was making quite a number on her head. She was pratically ready to throw herself at his feet, so maybe, just maybe, it was a good thing she had taken off and that he'd only now learnt of it. A couple more weeks and she'd be ready to come back. For good and without any more fuss.

Creed looked at the last letter. He hoped the horse had died. She was nearly dependent on those animals. He hoped they all died! He could even give them a hand if they weren't ready to kick the bucket just yet. Besides being crushed by the loss, she'd be facing her uselessness in the darned place, and once he reminded her how he was the only person who found her useful… She'd be exactly where he wanted her: cooking, cleaning and getting fucked. She was on her way to become the best housekeeper ever.

* * *

Yes, I know, it's very short... but the next chapter will be in tomorrow!

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	6. Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **6\. Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas**

Irbis frowned as Jubilee surreptitiously grabbed the cup from the neighbouring table. A group of teens had just left it, not bothering to take the trays away.

"I can't believe you're…" Kitty laughed, as Jubilee winked. "You cheapskate!"

Irbis tucked the shopping bags under the table. She didn't really want to have anything, and Kitty had just wanted to sit down for a bit before they finished off the Christmas shopping, but Jubilee had been complaining of thirst for a while now and so they'd gone up to the fast food restaurants area.

"What is she doing?"

"Asking for a refill," Kitty laughed, and turned to enjoy the theatre.

"So gross," the teenager was now proclaiming loud and clear. " You put your finger in it. I saw it! Yew!"

"She never pays for a drink if she can get away with pretending she wants a refill."

With the widest smile, Jubilee joined them.

"You sure you don't want one," but she was already putting up her feet up on an empty chair nearby and relaxing, sipping gleefully through the straw.

And Irbis just couldn't help thinking about Creed. The girl's ease, confidence and self-entitlement (so similar to Creed's, really) flushed her as if she had the very man in front of her. Irbis used to be like that, confident. She used to enjoy having the world's eyes on her, admiring and respecting her. She used to either lay low in order to be invisible, studying the folks around her, or burst forth and command the world! The only thing that used to make her self-conscious was the possibility of blundering badly in public. Even when she was in a stubborn this-or-nothing mood, she tried to be as discrete as possible, to avoid reproach, although she might still send said reproach to hell if it was to have things her way.

Ever since arriving in this world of mutants, though, she had become something else entirely: shy, self-conscious, afraid. Always afraid. Oh, and ashamed, let's not forget that one. Because she knew it was wrong, how she felt about Creed. If she hadn't promised him, she should just ditch him. And yet well she knew that, even if she had promised him nothing, she still wouldn't have ditched him just like that. No. It shamed her to no end that she didn't really want to get rid of him. A sociopath, a monster, a… a handsome, strong, irresistible man. What a shame!

Shaking her head in a vain attempt to get her obsession off her mind, Irbis looked around. There was a blond guy smooching some girl on the other side and Irbis's mind immediately compared him to Creed: the slightly different hair colour and size, the slim unimpressive body, the lax affection he was showering the girl with… it all seemed to her so unlike Creed, it almost revolted her.

"So, what's missing?" Jubilee asked, glancing at the paper bags. "We got plenty already!"

Holding back a sigh, she wondered where he'd be spending Christmas Eve… Would he go to Wausau? She hoped not! She'd hate for him to go there, expecting a relaxed homely Christmas packed with sweets and cakes and… and instead coming home to an empty house. If only she could have thought of an excuse to leave for the holiday… But the X-Men would find it strange, no doubt. And anyway, the man had been away, lost in his killing business for almost three months now! What if he was too busy to stop by Wausau? She'd be completely lonely – abandoned! – in the Wausau house.

"Hellooooo!" Irbis looked at the grinning girl, startled. "Day dreaming about your Mike much, huh?"

Irbis smiled coyly. Pay more attention to your friends, she censured herself. And why should she worry about the man so much when he clearly hadn't worried enough not even to send her a text message checking on her? But as she walked behind the two girls, she felt lonely. Friends, she called them. But it wasn't like the friends she used to have. Her choir friends, her highschool friends, her university friends, her horse-riding friends, her bar friends… She could spend the entire week going out in the evening, each day a different group of friends! Laughing, dancing, singing, playing… living. Even the men over at the bar where she went with her grandfather, where they played fado. She was the youngest, most people there being in their thirties, forties, seventies, but she was welcomed, she laughed at their jokes, they celebrated her playing… Ah, good old days. Good old friends. All gone now. Forever gone.

"Hey, Isabel, what do you think, huh?" And Jubilee showed her a set of red silk lingerie drowned in tiny black bows. "Is it her face or what?!"

She hadn't caught who that present was supposed to be for so she just smiled, forcing a non-committed chuckle. Kitty laughed and called the teenager crazy, but yeah, why not! She couldn't wait to see her face! Whose?, Isabel wondered. But who cared, anyway? Jubilee and Kitty were the only two people she got on with, and only because of the motormouth teenager. She drowned the last sigh and forced her mood up. The girls were her friends, she insisted, freshly made ones.

"Sorry, I just remembered something," Kitty and Jubilee looked back. Forcing herself to relive the confidence she used to feel with her friends, those now lost to her, she grinned and pushed the bags she'd been carrying for the girls back into their hands. "I need to buy something… can you give me twenty minutes? I meet wid you in de entrance, ok?"

Jubilee smirked, curiousity picked.

"A little something for Mike? I _knew_ you…"

Irbis lifted a demanding hand that stopped the girl.

"Twenty minutes, Jubes. Widout games." And knowing well enough who she was dealing with: "You _don't_ follow me, understand?"

Kitty laughed and the teenager stuck her tongue out.

* * *

 _Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

 _Let yourself be…_ la-ra

The MP3 player had been regurgitating that song for over three hours now, but Irbis wouldn't be able to understand the rest of its lyrics in a thousand years. Not that she cared much about it right now: it was the sad, bleak melody that had first attracted her and that was what she had her heart set on memorising. By tomorrow morning, she figured, she'd have it committed to memory. Then, if she felt like singing to it, she'd just invent some Portuguese lyrics.

She wondered lazily how Creed would react if she asked him to help her make sense of the lyrics. He'd call her stupid and moron, naturally, but would he help? Her fingers essayed playing the song on her bed covers. It was easier to adapt a song she liked to the piano – learn it, basically – if she was actually playing, but she didn't want to reveal to the others she could play.

 _Have yourself a merry little Christmas…_

She new what merry Christmas meant – you can't not know it no matter where you live in the world – but it sounded like _a sad little Christmas_ in the song. She essayed a _enjoy your sad Christmas_ in Portuguese but it din't quite have the same sound. For a moment she considered checking out the real meaning of the lyrics and actually learning them. Bruna did that all the time… she had been in the choir, just like Irbis, but her love was English pop music (as in English-lyrics pop music). Of course, Bruna was good at English. Irbis would often learn the melody and accompany Bruna either at the piano or at the girl's guitar. Every now and then Bruna would also teach her the lyrics… a few of them Irbis didn't even care to know what they meant, she'd just learn them by heart, confident she was producing the right sounds thanks to her friend's indications. If the merry little Christmas song had stupid lyrics that didn't match its melody's mood, Irbis could always learn them as is and ignore whatever they meant. Of course she needed someone to help her and correct her when she said the words wrong.

Would Creed have done it? Well, assuming he liked the song, that is, otherwise he surely wouldn't. Unless he heard her and got annoyed at her mistakes and started correcting her. Yes, that would be the way to go about it.

The knock at the door had Irbis freeze, breathing caught at the throat.

"Isabel?"

Ah, it was Jubilee. Like duh (to use the girl's expression), who else could it be? Switching off the music, Irbis opened the door, noticing the piece of cake on the girl's hands.

"Thought you might want some. Are you sure you don't want to come down and join the fun?"

Irbis opened the door wider and welcomed the girl in with a sorry but I'm fine here. Just to be on the safe side, she had lit up a couple of candles on the desk, next to an image of Our Lady. Jubilee laughed, unamused, when she saw it.

"I can't believe it's really true." She put the plastic plate down on the desk and rolled her eyes. "You're really spending the night praying, then? I mean, for real?!"

Irbis swallowed down the smirk at the girl's expression and made herself as virtuous as possible. "It was a tradition in my house… Presents only in de morning, because de night is to think about Jesus Cristo."

It wasn't a lie. And her Grandma Lilia did light candles in her little home altar and pray a whole rosary before they went to the church, at night, and again after returning. But Irbis wanted an excuse to hide from the joy downstairs. She didn't fit there, with all those people she hardly knew, Kitty and Jubilee aside. Worse, though, it was her first Christmas away from home, from family. She could almost feel herself back at her aunt's house… her Aunt Paula had a detached house with the large basement transformed into a garage that could hold up to three cars and nicknacks on top of it. It was all transformed into one huge dining room for the family, with the grownups crowded around the long crooked table, uneven benches for a seat… and the kids prancing about a smaller table, less crooked and with chairs, to avoid the game of trying to topple the bench and everyone on it. She still remembered the first year she'd been allowed at the grownups table… And yes, she would be praying most of the night: one prayer for each person she had left behind. Shaking her head to hold back a sudden urge to cry, Irbis went to the desk and opened its drawer.

"Well, you are here so… I bought two… is not really presents, just a little thing. For you and Kitty."

Jubilee blushed, speechless for once.

"You shouldn't have…" she droned out, not picking the two little gifts. "I didn't… I mean, we didn't…"

Serious now, Irbis insisted. "I don't want presents, Jubilee. I bought dis because I want to give you and Kitty, not because I want to receive something, you understand? Now please."

The girl hugged her all of a sudden and Irbis felt like crying again. There was always a big pile of presents, every Christmas. Not that one person got a lot… well, with so many cousins and aunts and uncles, the children did get over half a dozen but… She remembered how she and the other children were the ones who distributed the presents around, come the morning, over breakfast. It was always a long breakfast because you waited eagerly for the person to unwrap the present and say something before you could run back to the pile for more gifts. She remembered feeling so excited over the smiles – even the pretend ones. Oh, and opening the presents for the adults! And then, when she started being too old to distribute gifts, when she was twelve or thirteen and there were a bunch of eight year olds to fulfill her old task, she had taken over the next task: giving the kids the presents and informing them of whom to give them to, enforcing the rule of waiting for the unwrapping, for the smile, for enjoying that person's happiness.

"Thank you," Irbis forced a happy smile, as happy as she could muster. "I'm very happy dat you think of me and bring me cake. Thank you."

Jubilee was embarrassed and shrugged the thankfulness away before leaving. As she closed the door, Irbis got the MP3 player from her pocket and played the song again. Then she got her mobile phone and sat on the bed. She should try to get online and write something on fer Facebook account, as well as on Mike's. She sighed, wondering if Creed had a Facebook account.

"Merry Cristmas," she wrote and sent the message.

 _Have yourself a merry little Christmas_ …

With a sigh she looked at the imageof the saint and crossed herself.

"Please, my Our lady, watch over all of them." She said in her native Portuguese, as a prelude to the individual prayers and already thinking about some less close friends or family members (like the cousins who lived up north and only came down once every two or three years) who might end up not getting their prayed due.

"Every single one of them."

Irbis sighed and gave in.

"Including _him_ … even if I know you disapprove."

* * *

Fair warning: there will be a two week hiatus before I restart posting. See you then.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	7. The Farewell Party

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **7\. The Farewell Party**

Irbis had hoped to feel confident in her sleeveless black dress, the one she'd worn in Albany; instead she was just feeling nervous. Creed had liked the dress. She had noticed how his eyes had gone over her, back in the club in Albany. She was sure it hadn't been because of her body since the dress didn't show much skin, just her shoulders, not to mention the full skirt that came down to just above the knee wasn't insinuating either. She didn't have enough chest to call his attention either, especially with all the huge nearly exposed breasts everywhere else.

When Irbis had put it on in her room, she had immediately felt nervous though. It made her think of _him_. Especially because she was finally leaving New York, going to the far off California! They'd just told her, so Irbis hadn't yet had the chance to write _him_ a letter. But the thought of having attained her goal – getting away from the X-Men – was heady and she told herself that was why she was nervous. Now get your head up and enjoy your victory.

Of course the other women's clothes squashed whatever headiness she might have been feeling. Their clothes and their bodies. It took her a while to understand the outing had been planned for quite some time and that Irbis had only been invited to tag along because Jubilee had nagged their ears off and Kitty had put in a good word. That just made her feel unwelcomed by the rest of the group and added to her nervousness.

Oh well, at least she'd have all this mess cleared up in no time! And then… Irbis breathed out. Then she simply had to clear that other mess with Creed. Victor. Because she had it all cleared in her mind already, it just needed dealing with the man, really. If she could go back to Wausau… to her herb garden, her piano, her Portuguese guitar… After all, the man was gone for months and months at a time! So what if they had sex when he showed up? Two weeks every three months, probably. She would be like a mistress. Some women might even say that arrangement would beat marriage!

"Welcome to… the Hellfire Club!"

Irbis snapped out of her reverie and smiled, honestly. Jubilee had arranged her outing with the best of intentions and Irbis was grateful. Even if their friendship was going to fade away in no time.

Jubilee jumped off the car. She was electrified, making Irbis wonder if this was her first time at that nightclub. Kitty, Rogue and Oro Munroe (Irbis still hadn't been able to understand what her name really was) looked at the sixteen year old with a patronising smile, but Paige just rolled her eyes, exasperated.

The nightclub was fit for kings. Golden accents here and there, chandeliers of glimmering crystals… and the band! It was almost an orchestra complete with three violinists; a grand piano; ooh, a cello!; flutes and…

"They're over there," Jubilee called out loudly. "Hey, guys!"

Snapping from the dream band, Irbis noticed the reproaching glances and fell back a bit, distancing herself from the group. Irbis had been to upscale places a few times. Enough so to have been deadly embarrassed when Creed had pushed her into such a restaurant, back in Chicago, in cheap, bland clothes. This place was something else entirely, and Jubilee was being mortfyingly childish and crass in the eyes of the locals.

Walking behind, Irbis could enjoy the way the older women – Oro and Rogue – bore themselves regally. The Paige girl was trying to feign coolness and at ease, but the stiff way she held herself yelled self-conscioussness and insecurity. At least Jubilee's crass easiness protected her from being bullied, Irbis thought; the other girl would be eaten alive if the pretentious vultures around got to her.

"Come an' join us, Mesdemoiselles!" Gambit, the French speaking guy, swiftly motioned the ladies to a nearby table as he called the waiter. "Garson!"

Jubilee had already grabbed a chair and was now sitting at the guys' table, as Gambit directed two waiters to bring the tables closer together.

"We weren't expecting such a large company," said the blond rich guy, Warren.

He was full of himself, like most guys who were born rich, but he wasn't arrogant. The way Paige walked up to him, though, Irbis got the distinct idea that the girl was a country mouse of sorts trying to make believe she was at home in the big rich city for the guy's benefit.

"Isabel will be leaving us shortly." Oro explained, sitting down with grace, "and Jubilee wanted her to have a farewell party."

"Yeah, and it was _such_ a pity I couldn't get a hold of her new boyfriend!" Jubilee leaned on Logan's arm, while Paige rolled her eyes, annoyed, and hissed at the teen to shut up. "Poor ol' Mike had to go back home, back in… Kansas, wasn't it, Isabel? 'Cause he was only here on work, you know, and…"

Irbis sat down at the furthest end of the table, not wanting to impose on the group and hoping no one would be interested in more details about Mike. She wouldn't want to be caught lying by Logan and she wasn't sure hiding under a cover of shy reserve would cut it. She had barely sat down, though, when Warren noticed her.

"Don't sit that far away, Isabel! We won't be able to hear any of what you say."

Gracious smile on her lips, she nodded and came closer. By now, Paige was sitting next to Warren, effectively arresting his attention on her comments over the club. It was her first time there too, Irbis realised.

"But California's only, what, 1,000 miles from Kansas?" Chirped in Jubilee, who was flowing over the edge with excitement and completely ignored the "closer to 2,000" correction from Rogue. "He'll be able to come and visit all the time! Because, let's get real, people, you just _can't_ compare California and Kansas. There's, like, _nothing_ to compare. California is _the_ place to be and Mike will just have to face the fact and move over there."

Irbis swallowed a chuckle, noticing how 'Wolvie' just drank his beer, completely ignoring the younger girl.

"What d'ya do t' de petite? She sound like she fell in a swimming-pool o' coffee an' drank it all!"

"We let her tag along," answered Oro, "when perhaps we should have left her behind…"

"As if ya could have!"

"Shut up already, Jubilee! Don't speak so loud. Everyone's looking!" And Paige herself looked around, conscious of the disapproving glares.

Warren waved a hand, as if it were nothing, but Logan shook his head.

"Paige's right, darlin'. Ya better keep yer voice down a bit."

"Oh, come on, Wolvie. I'm not talking that loud."

Kitty was just turning to glance at the waiter who was about to set a drink in front of her when she gasped.

"What's wrong, sugah?"

Frowning, her lips pressed tight, Kitty waited for the waiter to leave before whispering over the table.

"When I looked around just now, I think I saw… over by the bar… I'm almost sure it was Sabretooth…"

For a moment, Irbis felt she was having a heart attack.

"It was." Logan's voice was almost a growl.

Oh, God and Our Lady of Fatima! She was having a heart attack! Breathe, she told herself, and brought her drink abruptly up.

"We met 'im a little while ago," explained Gambit. "He's…

"And he's still here!?" Jubilee's voice was almost a shriek.

She took a sip but couldn't swallow it down. Act normal, her head screamed. _Act normal_!

"Quiet down, kid. This is the Hellfire Club," Warren looked just as serious as Gambit. "No one messes with anyone in here without getting kicked out. We can't go and kick his ass, just like he can't come and bother us. Rules of the house."

Oh, thank God, they hadn't noticed her reaction.

"Dumb rules, if you ask me."

Please, don't notice…

"Maybe, Jubilation; but they must still be kept no matter how we feel about them." Oro's calm put a stop to that subject and a heavy silence came over them.

They were going to notice. Especially the Logan guy, Wolvie.

"So…" Rogue's eyes came to rest on her Cajun's face, "and what have you, boys, been up to?"

He just had to take one look at her and…

"We? Not'ing special, chér…"

Irbis got up abruptly. "I'm sorry, where is… a… de… uh… basroom. Bathroom."

Okay, maybe she should have thought this through as they were now staring at her.

"The restroom," Oro offered, "is a bit beyond the bar, to the right."

Face burning, she nodded and left, the word stupid echoing endlessly in her mind. Even because she had no idea what 'beyond' meant so she just wandered blindly around the bar until she spotted the doors. Then she headed in and locked herself in a restroom stall and, finally, took a deep breath. Hands trembling, she fished her cell phone from the bag and dialed Creed's number.

Calling, calling, calling… Voice mail. Irbis switched it off, frustrated, and started punching in a message.

"Fone me pleise can explicate"

She looked at the message before sending it. Drats, phone should be spelt with ph and please was wrong too, she was sure. She had written down a list of all the words she used the most when writing to the man and please was one of them. Why did her memory refuse to work when it came to spellings?! She just hoped the word explicate existed as she sent the message.

Unless… the thought sobered her almost into indigestion. Unless he had been to Wausau, had read all her letters... She quickly wrote 'I go to California tomorow' and hit send.

Wait a minute! If he had been to Wausau, if he had read all her letters… why hadn't he contacted her? Why… Was he stalking her? He had read all her letters and he had the nerve to come down and spy on her? Without having the decency of letting her know he knew about the whole mess?! After leaving her for three blasted months, no contacts, no nothing, agonising over her honest-to-God mistake…!

"Isabel?"

Jubilee. As silently as possible, Irbis took a deep breath and put her phone away, making sure it had no sound and wouldn't vibrate either.

"Isabel? Are you OK?"

"A minute," she called out from the stall.

She had to get her head straight. Maybe he hadn't contacted her because he feared it might be intercepted by the X-Men. She shook her head. The hell he did! Victor Creed was not afraid of anything. And if he was, he'd probably brave it just to make sure nobody suspected it! No, if he hadn't contacted her it was simply because he was playing games with her. She had been nothing but straightforward and honest with the man, and what did he do? He tried to play games and manipulate her. Well! Two can play at that game, mister! And put an end to it too.

Breathing in and out (pretty much like he had taught her when he was teaching her how to throw, too), Irbis flushed the unused toilet and got ready to greet Jubilee with a smile.

The girl frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_!" Maybe she said it too strongly, but she was still angry, and the idea was still very fresh, still growing. "I had a great idea to have fun in my last night here. So, my good friend Jubilee, please go back to de table, ok? "

Jubilee was suspicious, naturally. Who wouldn't? Irbis was acting out of character, for all the girl knew. Sighing, she hugged Jubilee for a moment.

"You can think I'm crazy, but I am going to have fun, you understand? Like when I was wid my friends… home."

She had done some crazy things, when she was out with her friends. But she had never done them alone; tonight would be a novelty on that level. As they left the restroom and Irbis stayed behind, watching Jubilee walk up to the X-Men's table, she could see the group was having fun. Then she looked around. She could not see Creed anywhere and she hoped he hadn't left.

The band was coming to the close of a song: it was time to start the show. Irbis took a deep breath and, before the band could pick up a new piece, she had climbed up to the low stage. She was aware that a security guard had suddenly left his position.

"Tom Traubert Blues," she said, leaning over the pianist's shoulder. "Rod Stewart version."

The singer frowned at her, so she stepped up closer to him and challenged him with a wink.

 _"Wasted and wounded"_ she sang, just loud enough for the band to hear and realise she could sing, " _and it ain't what de moon did… I've got mo' dan I paid for now_."

The security guard was already there, but the singer was smiling, signaling the pianist who overlooked the opening and picked up where she was. So Irbis took a step back, leaned on the piano and accompanied the singer.

" _See you tomorrow_

 _Hey Frank, can I borrow…_ "

Of course no one else could hear her. She was pretty much singing in whispers and the man was singing into a microphone. So she mouthed a few more lines before dropping even that pretence. Although, truth be said, she was pretty certain that, if she were to be heard, folks would quickly realise she spoke gibberish every now and then, since she didn't really understand all of the words. She lacked Bruna at her side, telling her how to pronounce the lyrics.

The three violins joined in with the chorus and Isabel felt her blood soar, thrilled.

 _"waltzing Matilda… waltzing Matilda…"_

Without thinking, she sang the chorus a bit louder, more freely, and then sailed off the stage, swirling so as to make her skirt flare up.

 _"You'll go waltzing Matilda with me"_

It was now or never! She curtseyed an invisible dancer and set herself in position.

 _"No-one speaks English"_

Then she started dancing, alone. Swirling slowly about with a smirk. Provoking, if Creed could see it.

 _"And my strength is soaking away_

 _To go…"_

With the violin, she picked up pace and swirled, swirled, swirled!

 _"… waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda"_

Till she thought she might lose balance and the chorus came to an end.

" _You'll go a waltzing Maltida with me"_

She hesitated one moment, her head recovering its bearings, but then her feet moved once more, with certainty, rocking her to the melancholic rhythm. For a swift moment, she risked losing concentration and searched for his face in the crowd. Instead, she saw what she figured was mockery and amusement.

"Mock all you want," she thought with mocking glee. "He, wherever he's hiding, _he_ isn't mocking. He's seething!"

Her smile grew wider and she bit her lower lip. "Can you see me, hun? Can you?" Would he remember what she had told him, that a woman dancing alone is asking for a man to join her? "Join me if you dare!"

 _"To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda_

 _You'll go a waltzing Matilda with me"_

She swirled harder. It was coming to an end, now.

 _"And it's goodnight to the street-sweepers,_

 _The night watchmen flame-keepers"_

Goodnight, then, goodnight. She allowed her movements to become slower, heavier.

 _"And goodnight Matilda"_

Two more swirls, farewell, fare-thee-well, her skirt soaring gently one last time before coming to rest with a sigh.

 _"Goodnight Matilda"_

As the orchestra flew lazily to its well-deserved finale, Irbis glided towards the low stage. Had she sung, alongside the singer, she'd have received a bout of applause, she knew.

"You are magnificent," she glowed to the musicians. "Bravo! And thank you."

She walked back to the X-Men's table as if she owned the place. Ah, it was good to feel like herself again! And Creed! Creed would be gawking at her daring, her confidence. Oh, he already knew what she was like when she was stubborn or angry, or at least he had an inkling. But he had always complained about her low head, her shyness… Tonight though!

"One Porto wine," she called out to a waiter as the man was passing by. "Old vintage."

The young man nodded and carried on and Irbis swirled in order to look at the band, now playing Rod Stewart's 'For the First Time'. The glances she'd guessed mocking were nowhere to be seen, though. She remembered what she'd been told, years ago. The first time she'd been to a fancy club, actually. If you give a show with confidence (and grace, but that went without saying), you're the greatest; but if you hesitate… you're nothing but a lowly clown.

She was the queen of the world, tonight! Dared she to sing, and she'd be its damned Empress!

"What the hell got into you tonight!" Shrieked Jubilee, delighted at her craziness it seemed.

She glanced at Rogue, her gloved hand in Gambit's; she glanced at Paige, looking surreptitiously at a louder laughter, some tables behind her. Oh, she was provocative tonight! She even looked the grumpy Wolverine, always so suspicious of her, dead in the eye.

"Is a magnificent band to dance, neh? So… you couples don't dance?"

And she wanted nothing but to provoke Creed into… Ah, this was so not wise. But damn if it wasn't worth it! Teach him to contact her next time.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	8. Taking the Tiger by its Fangs

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **8\. Taking the Tiger by its Fangs**

Perched on the terraced roof of the neighbouring building, Creed saw Irbis smile quietly at the man as the car reached her building and parked. He couldn't help the feeling that he was taking the whole whim too far, really. He should just kill her, once he was sure the X-Men wouldn't come snooping after him, that is, as he still didn't want anyone to connect the stupid girl to him or his safe house. Or to discover her DNA secrets.

Irbis and the man were inside the car for a few moments, then he got out and gallantly opened the door for her, escorting her to the building door. Creed couldn't help wondering if she would be worth all the trouble. She better be. Although he was sure she was; she had spirit enough in her when she wanted to, not to mention her cooking and cleaning skills alone made it worth the whole beating about the bush. His Wausau house just wasn't the same without her sprucing it up.

Creed saw the man's hand slide onto her back, right below the waist line, and he made a mental note to literally unscrew that hand before killing him. And even if Irbis was too stupid to fear a beating, he was still going to teach her a painful lesson. What the hell was she doing, going on dates? She knew damn well she belonged to him. They stopped at the door and stood there silently, then the guy leaned forward for a kiss and Creed growled. Nevertheless Irbis evaded it (good for her), but smiled coyly and… invited him in?

Creed frowned, surprised. She had invited him in? On a first date?! What the hell was the girl up to? The next moment, the lights were on in her apartment and he could see the two in the living room. He strained his eyes, trying to follow each movement. They were sitting side by side on the sofa, too close, each holding a wide chalice with a dark drink, and the guy reached a hand for Irbis's face. The mutant growled when she took a hold of his hand and held it softly against her cheek. She was either on another of her stupid streaks or she was up to no good.

Irbis was smiling as they both continued sipping from their glasses, chatting. Finally, almost an eternity later, they got up and Irbis let the man embrace her, fully and lovingly. Cold rage permeating every fibre of his body, Creed made up his mind to break in. And the sooner the better! Just then the light of her bedroom was switched on and he saw both of them fall on her single bed, still cuddling. The man remained on the bed, his back to the window, looking at Irbis when she got up and started stripping for him, unbuttoning her shirt. That was it! Creed got up just as the light vanished, switched off.

Simmering in his rage, he went to the back of the rooftop then sprinted across it, gaining momentum for the wide leap over the street, and landed on Irbis's building rooftop. Barely listening to anything but his own blood boiling, he slipped down the stairs until he reached her apartment, on the second floor.

Cringing at what he knew he was going to listen, Creed stood still at the entrance door and listened. He was momentarily taken aback when he didn't hear anything. He took a step back, the obvious reason for the silence being that he was eavesdropping at the wrong apartment, and checked the door number. But no, that was Irbis's flat. Even because her scent dangled softly in the corridor only to strengthen at the door.

The mutant hesitated. The situation had suddenly taken the undertones of a trap. The bedroom was too far from the door for him to distinguish the sound of breathing, but he strained his ears, listening... carefully... ... ... absolute silence... wood creaking softly under someone's light movement... Were they just cuddling in bed? Sleeping? Or... Creed couldn't suppress the growl and used his claws to silently open the lock, which wasn't locked (what the hell was the stupid girl thinking, not locking the door?!).

Irbis's scent was strong inside the house, and Creed wasn't even aware of how deeply he inhaled that well-known fragrance. He progressed silently across the wide living room until he reached the tiny corridor that connected her bedroom and bathroom with the living room. The bedroom door was only slightly open and although he couldn't see anything other than the closet wooden doors, he could clearly hear two people breathing, one calmly awake, the other sleeping heavily.

Bells once more rang in Creed's mind, but he couldn't just pull back now, wait till the guy left so he could follow him home, and only then kill him. Besides, he needed to know exactly what was going on – see it with his own eyes – and, maybe more importantly, what had happened since the lights had been switched off.

"De house isn't dat big. How long you going to wait?"

Creed was motionless for a second, taken completely by surprise, then clenched his teeth and walked in. Irbis was sitting on a wooden chair facing the bed, watching the man on it sleeping.

"You want a beer?"

He hadn't been in a good mood, and her mellow if hard voice, still directed at the man who was still in her bed, only aggravated him.

"Ya set this up."

Her brown eyes looked at him, even though he couldn't distinguish their colour in the darkness, and the slight dashes of green amidst the hidden browness flashed.

"You don't answer my letters, or my phone calls, or my messages of text," and she got up, fists on her hips. "But you're very fast to kill mans dat dance wid me, hun?"

Oh, so that was it! She was pissed because he had iced the uppity yahoo who had had the nerve to take her out on a date – to a dancing ball, no less – three days before. The girl should have known better.

"Ya're mine," he reminded her, "when assholes think o' gettin' their hands on what's mine... they pay the price."

She took a deep, exasperated breath. Controlled, though. "You want a beer or not?"

But Creed's eyes went over to the man's figure. "He's drug," the girl shrugged, irritated. She wanted to get him out of that room, Creed knew. "Don't go to wake up before morning."

"Drugged, huh?"

"Yes." But as eager to take him away as she was, she didn't try to push him out. "I put medicine to sleep in de wine. He is only de… what you call… bait. He is only de bait for you to contact me."

Creed maintained his eyes on the man, sensing Irbis's certainty slowly become aprehension.

"If are more mans die dat have a connection wid me, de police can investigate… De X-Men can return, if dey know is a problem."

Grinning, though it was too dark for the girl to see it, Creed asked her if she thought he was afraid of the morons. But Irbis just sighed, groaned and shook her head. Still, she was right. Having deaths pinned on her wouldn't help make her invisible to the world again, and that was something she needed to be if he wanted her back in Wausau.

"Ya ain't got nuthin' stronger than beer?"

There was hopefulness when she breathed out a no, and Creed finally receded into the living room. As he switched on the lights though, she rushed over and switched them off.

"People can see everysing in de house when de lights are turned. We can talk perfectly like dis."

Creed glanced at the sheer fabric of the curtains. "Why don't ya just get proper curtains?"

"Because you couldn't spy me so well if I had proper curtains," she said matter-of-factly, sitting down on the creeking sofa with a royally straight back.

He turned to her, frowning. "What gave ya the idea I was spyin' on ya?"

She hesitated, looking at her hands. "You kill Tony… and de same night we went to de dance! So you had to be spying."

He paced the small room. That didn't explain why she hadn't got thicker curtains, since she'd been living in that house for nearly a month when he'd aced the ass-hole. Maybe she couldn't afford them just yet and the spy thing had been a spur of the moment. Curiously, though, he didn't feel aggravated that she'd baited him out of the shadows. But then again, he mused, it was about time they did have a pow-how even if he had been waiting to make sure the X-assholes weren't about to return.

Creed pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. Let her talk away. Especially because she wanted him to say something, the way she clenched her teeth for a moment gave her away. She wanted an explanation.

Irbis breathed out suddenly, exaperated. "You cannot ignore a message from me and den start kill people because I'm _alegadely_ yours. If I'm so your woman you kill a man wid who I dance, I'm your woman enough for you to answer my messages!"

Creed growled a warning. "Ya think ya can get away from me that easy?"

"No, I think you _forget_ me!" She closed her fists. Was that a hurt undertone? "I think you… don't want to know about me."

Oh, please! She'd baited him because she was hurt over his silence? Really? He thought she'd have gotten over those stupid fuzzy feelings she'd confessed to back in Wausau. But then the girl rubbed her face with both hands and got up, talking about beers in the fridge. When she returned, a six pack in her hands, she seemed to have pulled herself together.

"Okay, let's start wid de start, ok?" She once more sat up very straight on the couch and interlaced her fingers on her lap. "I was stupid. I… I think I didn't really understood my situation. De alien everywhere, like you said. When I went to New York, to de school, I… de situation entered my head. So…"

It was about time! Nevertheless, he didn't say anything; instead, he just reached for one of the beer cans she'd left on the table. She waited until he'd got a long sip and breathed out softly.

"De situation is dis: I can live here ok, no problems. If you don't… aren't interested in me more, I can stay here and make my life." Another pause. See if he bit the bait again, huh? "But de truth is dat… I can have a very better life in Wausau… …working to you."

Ha! That's what she was getting to. She wanted him to say 'come on back and everything's forgiven and forgotten'. Hiding a grin, Creed downed the rest of the beer. He could feel her impatience rising slightly.

"So, Mr Victor Creed, what you want?"

Enough with the silence, then.

"I told ya a thousan' times ya was stupid." Creed breathed out and reached for another can, looked around at the weathered furniture. "Ya can live in this rabbit hole jus' fine, huh?"

"Fine, no," she cut sharply. "But I can live here if has to be."

"No piano…" and Creed looked her in the eye. She was running on stubborness though. Well, if she thought he'd open the game, she had another one coming. "So what d'ya expect from me, huh?"

Oh, yeah. Clenching teeth gave her irritation away, all right. She wanted to get as many privileges back as she possibly could and was trying hard not to push any limits in order to improve her chances. But if he didn't give her any pointers, she couldn't tell where those limits were.

"I prefer you tell me what you want," and she straightened even more, if it was possible, growing taller on the battered couch. She so did not fit in that hole. "I can adjust me to what you wish."

Nice words. He shook his head though and she looked towards the window.

"Very well. I hope you want me to work in Wausau, in your house. Do de same work I do before."

She looked back at him and Creed thought he could see hesitation so he held his tongue. In a few moments, she had bitten her lower lip, breathed in…

"Before, you pay me four undred dollars…" Oh, she was about to get into deal-breaking waters. "If is possible, now I prefer receive two."

"What?"

"Two undred dollars. Maybe minus. If is possible, I make a book of my uh… de money I spend for month. And if is too much, you can pay me one undred and fifty or one undred…"

She was really trying to appease him.

"What if I don't pay you nuthin'?"

Her body stiffened somewhat.

"And den I pay you to live in your house, hun?"

Yeah, she had definitely taken that joke seriously. Creed shook his head.

"Don't be a moron! Course ya ain't ever gonna be makin' money t'pay me rent an' stuff." She paled somewhat. How could she be so stupid and naïve for somethings and so smart for others? "I was just pushin' yer buttons. Didn't think ya'd be stupid enough t'take it seriously."

Now she was blushing angrily. He found her clenched teeth amusing but it was that 'oh, if only I could' glare that he enjoyed. He wondered what she would do if he were an average Joe. For a moment he considered giving her space to show her true vindicative colours, her mean streak, just to know what she was really capable of.

"At dat time," she broke the silence with a steady if angry voice. "And now?"

Now? He shrugged. "Nuthin'. Ya're too fresh in them X-moron's memories. Ya up an' vanish, an' they'll come in pokin' around, lookin' fer ya."

Which was the reason why he had been keeping tabs on her but avoiding contact. They might still pop in to check on her, see if she was settling down ok. The last thing he needed would be for Logan to catch his scent. Right. He should be having this conversation somewhere else.

"I can resolve dat." The girl said quietly. "I said to my new bosses dat I met someone in New York. He was dere in work for two monts and we met regularly. I said he stop talk to me, in emails, and I pretend I am very depressed… heart broken. I also mention dis to de X-Men. Very uh, what's de word… subrrepticially?"

It's what he always said: stupid as a door for one thing, and smart as the devil for another.

"I have letters all prepared, say dat he contact me and ask me to marry wid him. Says dat he takes care of me and I don't need to worry wid nothing. I can explain to my boss in person or I can send de letter and after phone, to say dat I am going wid him."

"They may want to check him out," it was the only flaw of the plan, at first sight.

"I have pictures of him," she couldn't fully hide the smirk of satisfaction at her notion of a lie well prepared. "A name, a facebook page… de only problem is if dey really want to find him in person. But I think dat can be resolved if I maintain contact wid emails and some photos. One email now, two monts later, six monts later, one year later… and always say I am happy, very busy, a good life wid all de little problems dat normal lives have. And den I finally lose contact. You want to see what I create already?"

It just amazed him how smart the girl could be. Creed could take the extra step of creating a short paper trail to have the phantom husband seem legit. Unless someone was digging up the man's life in detail, no one would notice it was bogus.

"Show it to me," he said, curious, but Irbis stuttered, slightly hunched her shoulders for a moment.

"I don't have computer or internet in de house… I go to a cyberbar. But his name is Michael Davis. I search more popular first and last names twenty years ago. But friends call him Mike. I think is a good touch. I always say his name is Mike, but his name in facebook is Michael."

She had had the smarts of not chosing Smith or Johnson, which, being the most common names, tended to scream alias when disappearing acts were involved. He finished his second can and enjoyed her expression. She had forgotten her anger and was looking at him with an intense gaze that glowed with confidence. She'd come a hell of a long way since her rabitty ways… or maybe this was what she really was. It was enticing, that gaze. Inviting.

"When you want dat I return, you only have to say."

He got another beer. She was so worth all the trouble he had had so far. His first impulse was to say 'now', but it was smarter to check the lie for flaws and fix them first.

"In two or three months," that should give him enough time. The disappointment that coursed through her posture surprised him though.

"And here I thought ya could live in this shit hole just fine!"

That fired her up. "Bem, if is so much time… I like, if be possible, dat I have my guitar back."

He'd forgotten about the darned thing. In a moment he'd reconsidered his previous idea that the girl had been hurt over the idea he'd forgotten about her. She was probably hurt because the scenario meant losing her much loved guitar.

"I'll safe keep it till ya're back," Creed grinned. He couldn't forget about that leverage again.

Her gaze was burning now, and she got up, one relaxed fist on the hip.

"Den I have a proposition. You wanted dat I have sex wid you… well, you don't have to wait two or three monts. Choose a hotel and a day: you get what you want, and I get my guitar. Are you interested?"

Creed laughed. He couldn't help himself. She was serious like all hell, though, and his mirth sure as hell didn't phase her. He liked when she melted at his feet, truth be said; but this upfront attitude was so much better than the hesitant, clueless moron she used to be. He got up, wondering if he couldn't have the best of both worlds, and stepped up to her. Her breathing became a bit more laboured as her heart sped up. Maybe he could.

"What happened t' the scaredy cat ya used ta be, girl?"

She swallowed and parted her lips for a moment before answering.

"I said to you in New York," her voice was hard but breathless, "you don't know me… After you save me, I was afraid. I didn't want dat people see me, recognise me. I was afraid. But I'm tired of be afraid."

He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, lightly, and she shuddered, eyes fluttering before she got herself under control. Then he snaked his fingers around her neck, held the nape securely. Her throat wasn't able to choke the melting whimper, and she did close her eyes, swallowing hard as she put a hand on his chest to help her balance.

She was so ready… and he had a house outside LA, just an hour away. For a moment he hesitated. She'd have to show up to work the next morning and it was getting late for going, taking his time and coming back in time… Creed kissed her and she kissed back, hungrily, demandingly. That was so how he liked his women!

He broke the kiss and pushed her back.

"Get some clothes in a bag. Ya're comin' t' LA with me."

Surprise spread over her features for a moment, then she smiled. "I already have all my bags ready."

All? She had expected – hoped, at least – that he'd whisk her away. Well, why the hell not? He'd have her at his LA place for as long as it pleased him before he shipped her back to Wausau. He could spruce up the phantom husband later, anyway. It wasn't as if everyone would start coming after her, was it?

"What're ya waitin' fer then? I ain't got all night!"

* * *

Warning: next chapter will be M rated

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	9. Creed's Woman

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **9\. Creed's Woman**

Creed came to a halt just outside the ten feet high gate, the security pad at the distance of his arm. He clicked the logo twice, above the visor, instead of any numbered key, and the real security pad became visible. Then he entered the security code that would temporarily open the gate and put on hold any security measures, until he entered a confirmation code on the inside of the enclosure, next to the gate.

Sometimes it was just a big hassle, all the security measures he placed on his city houses, and he missed the simplicity of his Wausau house, but he'd get the woman there soon enough. Once the gate closed down again, though, he felt more at ease. The thirteen feet high, three feet thick wall and the titanium core gate covered in solid wood were formidable defences, especially since the walls surroundind the property were topped with sensors that would jumpstart more actively aggressive security systems. A veritable modern day castle.

He stopped the bike next to the entrance door, not the garage. He'd wasted enough time already and was eager to get down to hot business as soon as possible. When she got off the bike, though, and looked up at him – her heart beating in eager anxiety and her eyes intensely alive – he couldn't help himself and grabbed a handful of that dark hair, pulled her into a kiss she responded to passionately.

"Ya're mine," he whispered. He'd brand that on her forehead if need be.

"Yes, I know," and he barely noticed the hard intention in her voice, much less register it. "I am your woman, always."

He kissed her again, deeply, hungrily; his entire body burning behind it. He lifted her off the ground and covered the double stepped stairs, nearly crashing onto the entrance door. She was kissing back, her hands clutching beyond the shirt, but the door would not open, so Creed had to break the kiss, look away from those enticing eyes, that deliciously hungry mouth, the maddeningly tantalising scent... and try to focus long enough to remember the damned code to switch off the blasted house's own darned security system.

When he could finally return his full attention to her, she whispered breathlessly 'your woman'. He wouldn't have heard it if not for his heightened senses, he was sure.

"My woman," he echoed, as the image of a tattoo splashed over her back spirited itself into a great idea: 'Creed's'. Right at the bottom of her spine.

"My woman," he repeated almost unconsciously before kissing her again, hard, banging her head against the door. The pained yelp his mouth drowned reminded him the door wasn't open yet, and he growled as he pushed Irbis to the side and kicked the damned thing open.

Creed roared at the pain that shot through his leg bone as he remembered that this door had a titanium core too and that he should have simply turned the handle. Aggravated at all the constant obstacles, he turned to grab Irbis and rip those darned clothes off her already. The woman was standing at the doorway, a hand lightly on the door frame, the other tugging absentedly at the coat's zipper. In a swift movement, he pulled her to him and closed the door with a bang that had it bounce over. To make it worse, Irbis chuckled when he had to let go of her and close it without violence, because it refused to do so in any other way. He was nearly seeing red again, when the stupid thing finally clicked in place.

"I think de kick dislocated somesing..." Irbis had dropped her backpack, a teasing glimmer in her eyes, as she finished unzipping the coat. "Something. In de door."

He was on her before she could slid the coat off her shoulders, his claws cutting off the hem of her jeans expertly, and then trailing down her leg, as his hand lowered her slowly to the ground, allowing his claws to continue cutting through the fabric down to her knees and beyond. In theory, at least, because she whispered "bedroom", breaking off the kiss and halting the cutting.

"Dis is duro," she explained, meaning the floor was hard.

Creed growled a groan which lost its meaning when she smiled and kissed his neck, just below the chin, and then started kissing her way down, slowly, teasingly. She was airborne instantly, and landing on the silk sheets before she could reach his Adam's apple.

* * *

"What is it, Doc?"

"You gotta see this, Colonel!"

When Colonel stooped to study the screen his man was pointing at, the first thing he noticed was the camera's location – Sunland, L.A., California. Then he took a good look at the two figures on the bed, the orange and reddish silhouettes a testimony to the heat of their lust.

"Well, well... that's gotta be some special lady, if he took her to one of his safe houses."

Doc put a hand on his shoulder, his voice darker. "Double special, Colonel."

With the touch of a button, the other six smaller screens stopped showing images from empty, sleeping houses and went black before flickering with the exact same image: Sabretooth's arrival. The camera switched to night vision the moment the gates started moving, and its eye acquired the two human shapes on the bike as its preferential target. When both got off the bike, Colonel's teeth clenched.

"Irbis," he snarled, eyes hardened with hate.

On the screen, Sabretooth was kissing the woman. The kiss broke off for a moment for a quick exchange of words before he carried her over to the door. Colonel closed his fist hard as he witnessed Creed's impatience to get the woman in the house and close the door. The camera immediately switched to infrared vision, but the man had seen enough.

"Jackpot."

* * *

The Colonel character first showed up in 'Dancing to the Sound of Death'. That story explains why he hates Irbis.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	10. Unexpected Pay Back

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **Warning** : This chapter is M-rated.

* * *

 **10\. Unexpected Pay Back**

Creed was intoxicated. He couldn't think, but he didn't want to either: all that mattered was that pulsating body under his. The woman's unexperienced mouth striving to follow his lead, teasing him with its unintentionally teasing movements; her roving hands, searching for something they didn't know how or where to find; her legs slithering against him. And her scent – arousal and adrenaline and virgin apprehension – her scent was enough to drive a man crazy as he parted her thighs, a hand already cupping her lower back, and thrusted himself into her in a swift, hungry movement.

The entire body fastened around him in a vice of heated wetness, and he slid harder into its centre. Harder, past that virgin resistance. The scent of blood mingled with the arousal and the yelp, with the body's tantalising spasm and her fingernails, short and neat, ripping through his skin like claws of fire. He pulled back, and the scent enveloped them. He could nearly taste the blood in his mouth – swearing to do so in a moment – and thrusted back in with all the momento of the fire raging inside him.

He was burning, engorged to the limits of painful excitement, which made his skin so tender and sensitive that the constriction of the woman's body was torturing. But it was not enough! He searched for her gasping mouth, gasping and moaning, and tasted it again, ferociously, as he pulled fully back. The air hit his skin like a gust of ice, refreshing and tormenting, and he broke the kiss to breathe in and get a better hold of that squirmishing body, before forcing himself back into the woman in a single stroke. She cried out while her body stiffened harder, almost desperately, and he joined her cry with a liberating roar.

But it was still not enough! The fire still raged inside him, and tight as she was, as fully in as he was, he wanted more. To swallow her whole wouldn't have been enough.

He pulled back, only partially this time, savouring the strength of those clenched walls, and thrusted hard. Her body convulsed under his and nearly slid away under the power of the impact, so he embraced her harder: a hand securely around her body, another grasping her hair blindly. Her fingers had dug burning tracks into his back, and now she added the heat of her mouth, biting hard and deeply, a frantic moan choking itself. His vision blurred. She was so much more than what he had expected!

He pinned her down to the bed for extra leverage and gained speed; the fire growing impossibly stronger, his nose drowning blissfully amidst the scents of arousal and their spilling blood, his back and shoulder adding flames where her nails and teeth had been fastened and which the thrusting helped deepen, the sense of engorgement nearing its limit, his hearing listening only to the moaning and whimpering that spurred him on and harder and faster. His every muscle tensed up when he finally reached the edge, his whole body on the verge of exploding, and he stopped, relishing the feeling, making it last... a bit longer... a bit... And then the final thrust, almost gently despite the might of the roar that shook him.

Creed pulled out, panting, and searched for her mouth with less violence. The coldness of the room, comparing to the smelting heat of the woman, was a gust of sweet torture that started revitalising him almost immediately. He took his time kissing her hungrily, savouring his own blood on her unresisting tongue. It was still not enough! He had waited so long to taste that enticing body, he couldn't possibly be satisfied. Fortunately, his tireless stamina meant he didn't have to wait for a later meal. Instead, he nibbled her earlobe and whispered "ya're mine, woman". Then he stood up, kneeling between her thighs, and looked at her sprawling body. His body, now. To enjoy and dispose of as it gave him the most pleasure.

She didn't move. Legs wide open, one hand abandoned over her smooth stomach, another hand resting on the silken sheets, eyes closed, a few tears having left salty lines down her cheeks. The intense movement of the chest contrasted with her curiously silent panting, and he grinned. He'd soon have her screaming his name.

He didn't need to feel himself to know he was more than ready to start anew, but he rubbed himself nonetheless, getting their mixed scents in his hands. Then he pulled her knees up, sending a spasm of life through her body which made her teeth clench with a sharp intake of breath and her eyes flutter open. Gently, he worked his hands down her thighs; kneading her tense muscles lightly. When he reached her hips, her muscles relaxed faintly, and she had once more closed her eyes, her breathing calmer. He kissed her belly-button and she drew a sharp breath, contracting every muscle in her. The memory of her tightness, reinforced by this same clenching, made his mouth water and he tried to bite the skin of her underbelly. She once more breathed in and his target escaped him. But since there was a richer target to go after, he moved on. He kissed the mound of her sex and relished on the scent emanating from her tousled, though trimmed, hair. He licked it, reaching for what lay waiting underneath, and was rewarded with the steaming heat he'd felt before, except that now he could taste it. Salty, intense, musky; and the tang of blood that had become unseparable from his own scent. He used his eager tongue to recognise the terrain he had assaulted so abruptly a mere moment before, savouring every flavour that had slipped into hidden nooks and folds, feeling her narrowness, urged on by the contractions inside her, teasingly responding to his every movement, until he couldn't bear it any longer.

He reached for her mouth, so she could also savour the powerful taste of their mixed essences, and kissed her forcefully. Her tongue didn't respond to him, but when he lowered himself and thrusted into her with as much strength as the first, though with less impatience, her tongue came suddenly to life and fought his. Her sex felt as hungry as he was, clasping him relentlessly, and her nails clawed onto his chest vengefully. He let her tongue take the upperhand, while he plunged into her, again and again, in a new crescendo of blazing blood, rushing madly against his skin and, through that thin frontier, against her own inner skin.

Unfortunately, kissing the woman didn't mix well with the more powerful thrusts he was aiming for, so he broke the kiss and put more energy into his movements. He lowered himself over her, allowing her to once more bite into him, and she did so with all her might. He nearly purred as he felt the skin break and her wet mouth slurping and moaning over his blood. He shoved into her harder, making her whimper a stifled cry. And again. And again. And yet again. Then he stopped fully inside her, once more at the edge. The woman stood perfectly still, shuddering under him, her breathing fast and shallow, the saltiness of her tears joining the exciting saltiness of her sex, whose muscles took the pause to unwind slightly. He wouldn't be the one crossing the edge, though. The woman would push him over herself this time.

He let a hand slid down her back until it reached her bottom; then slowly, purposefully, he slid the middle finger through her crack, causing the woman to let an apprehensive whimper as her muscles contracted again, but this time in degrees, as his finger inched onward. Panting with the effort to hold back a while yet, he paused the advance, only to make one final sudden movement that got the tip of his finger nearly inside her. The woman practically lept away from his hand, opening her legs even wider in a vain attempt to escape his finger and pushing herself onto him with such constricting strength he came immediately.

He pulled out of her, panting, and was careful to roll onto his back instead of letting the woman handle his weight. He felt better than he had in months. His lust was now calm enough for him to think again.

He glanced at the woman. Her hands had fallen into abandonment again, her bloodied fingernails getting a mischievous grin to his face, remembering the scratches that had already healed all over his back. Her legs were still open wide, awaiting his return and he almost accepted their invitation. He made himself comfortable, resting on his side, a hand propping up his head. Her eyes were closed, a thin stream of blood – his blood – having left a still wet trail from the corner of her mouth to her jaw line. It tickled his nose and he licked his lips. Not many women bit, at least not hard enough to actually break the skin. Letting his tongue play on his fangs, he got a sudden urge to bite her too. Once more, he stood quiet enough, waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him. He studied every muscle in her face, waiting for the shuddering that would foreshadow an action from her part. Any action.

Creed sighed as he had time to think. He wasn't particularly happy when he had to admit she wasn't good enough for him to be ready for a third round in a single hour. I mean, one thing was to fuck through a bunch in a row; another was getting hung up on a single woman… who didn't even do anything besides opening her legs, let's face it. And scratch and bite, although that didn't really count. And as he tried to wait patiently, something that usually thrilled him, since it was basically waiting for his prey to make a movement that would get him back inside her narrow... He groaned. There was the proof. He couldn't make a simple hunt comparison without getting his dick in the way! In the very least his name. After all, that was what had led to this whole thing, wasn't it? The stupid fantasy of having her call his name, begging for more, only she hadn't once said his name since he'd got her in the house. She hadn't said anything, really, and right about now, he'd even take a simple 'hey, why did ya stop' or something. So why the hell didn't the woman just say _something_? Or just open her eyes and look at him? Or whatever! She wasn't sleeping; her breathing told him as much.

Refusing to let her stupid motionlessness ruin his good mood, he approached her and kissed the corner of her mouth, where his blood, mixed with her saliva, was drying. It was the slightest of touches – he barely got a proper taste of anything – and the woman held her breath with a quiet gasp, her eyes shutting down fiercely. He pulled back and waited. Surely she would open her eyes next. Why wouldn't she?

"Hey." His voice was harsh with annoyed impatience. "Ya gonna say somethin' already?"

She held her breath again. Well, why wouldn't she! Why didn't she just hold her breath to death while she was at it? Then her eyes fluttered open and she stared at the ceiling for a moment before sliding her head to the side, slowly (why wouldn't it be slowly?), until their gaze met. She seemed peaceful, though slightly apprehensive, and Creed gave her a few more moments so she could take some initiative and say _anything_.

He should have guessed it was a waste of his time and patience, though. She just sighed, then slowly closed her legs, clenching her teeth with a light grimace that she held while she too rolled to her side, facing him – things would have taken a certain turn to the worse had she rolled to the other side – and putting both her hands under her face. She didn't face him immediately, and it suddenly hit him that perhaps she was just tired, not to mention sore. The fact he hadn't thought of it earlier proved his head wasn't quite right, but the idea was troublesome. After all, if he had claimed her as his woman, he expected her to at least have normal human resistance. Of course she was a virgin – well, had been – and his body twitched back to life. That could explain why she had got tired in an hour... he glanced at the watch on the bedside table. Wait, half an hour? Hopefully, she wouldn't tire as fast next time. And if the worse came to be, maybe he could just coach her into improving her resistance until she could keep up with him, at least for a couple of hours.

"I..." Creed halted every thought at the low voice of the woman, but she seemed to regret it and bit her lip, as if thinking something over. "I don't know what you want dat I say."

That was not what he had expected hearing. To make it worse, his head seemed sluggish and an answer didn't offer himself to him.

"You want dat I say I liked?" That would be a good starting point, yes, but it struck him out of nowhere that she didn't look or sound as thrilled about the beginning of the night as she should. "Pois bem, it was violent and I..."

"I wasn't violent!" Creed sat up on the bed, shocked at the senseless accusation. "When the hell was I violent?!"

Maybe he hadn't been gentle – well, he wasn't particular gentle at anything, was he? – but to accuse him of violence!? The woman hissed slightly as she also got up and gazed straight into his eyes, decidedly, almost sternly.

"OK, is like dis: I know I ruined everything when I went away from Wausau and involved me wid de X-Men. So I know dat what you said uh… you know, dat you give me de best night of my life, dat I'm hurt but happy… what you said in Wausau. I know dat I can forget dat because I ruined everything. Fine. Great. So, I'm hurt and I'm not happy. What more you want dat I say?"

He didn't quite know what to say to that himself. He hadn't been thinking about any of what she'd just babbled about. In fact, it was just dawning on him she hadn't enjoyed it. And that she blamed it on _him_. Because he'd been violent as some sort of vengeance about...

"Ya ain't got no idea what violent is."

Irbis breathed in and covered her face for a moment. Was she going to turn on the water works? But then she took her hands away, looking at the ceiling as she exhaled. Oh, yeah. There were tears making her eyes shiny all right.

"Look, you got what you wanted, right?" When she glanced at him, there was indeed a tear trying to trickle down her face, and she shook her head. "I'm _not_ crying. I just have something in my eye, ok? What is important is dat you happy, ok? OK."

Fine, so he should have realised that normal action might go a bit overhead with a virgin. It wasn't like he was an expert on that field anyway, since he preferred them savvy. It still gave her no reason to accuse him of violence. In front of him, eyes closed, the woman was trying very hard to hold back the rest of the tears.

"It ain't my problem ya didn't like it. T'was great fer me, an'that's all I cares about."

His own voice riled him up. It sounded sulky and when the woman said "yes, I know" with the dismissiveness of a 'duh!' he blurted with a snarl: "Then why the hell are ya buggin' me with it?"

The woman glared enticingly at him. "Den why you ask me? You want me to say _what_? Dat I'm pain so you can be happy dat you got back at me and I paid de price for going to de X-Men? Fine! It hurt, I hated and I'm still in pain now. Happy?"

Creed's good mood was officially ruined. It didn't matter that the woman had made sense; if anything, it only made it worse. She was looking down at her fingers, teeth clenched, fighting against the need to cry with every ounce of her strength. It was obvious she was going to fail spectacularly though, and that was something he was not going to put up with no matter what.

With an impatient grunt, he got off the bed and left the room.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	11. Midnight Snack

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **11\. Midnight Snack**

The house seemed frozen. Not having put anything on, Creed rubbed his arms to try and get rid of the goosebumps and went straight to the fridge for a beer. The icy liquid flowed down his throat, cooling him down, sobering him up.

He wandered into the living room and surveyed the woman's bags scattered around; her coat on the floor. He stepped closer and crouched, noticing the shreds of fabric from her jeans. They still had her scent, including the alluring aroma of her arousal. He remained there, thoughtlessly involved in the scent, until his stomach growled. He took a long sip, nearly emptying the bottle. He was getting a hard on again, remembering her hands all over him, her eager kissing. The scent of arousal was surely something he wouldn't be smelling on the woman any time soon, though. He got up, grumbling at the turn of events. And here he'd been thinking about enjoying the woman's eager willingness for a few days!

In the kitchen he opened the freezer and took out a big steak, dropping it into the sink. He gazed past it, though. This was not going to do. He was not going to have his brand new little toy – all his own for once – get broken on the very first time he used it. No. He had had enough trouble, had been oh so very patient, to have that darned housekeeper willing and eager to open her legs for him every time he wanted and he was not about to give up now. He'd have what he wanted. It might take some more maneuvring, even put up with a bit of drama, but he had better fix it now. And preferably before eating, to avoid any drama-induced indigestion.

He finished the beer and got two more bottles from the fridge. A stupid woman she might be, sometimes; but she also knew how to behave herself most of the time. As he climbed the stairs, he told himself she had had time to cry all she had to and got herself over it. Nevertheless, he approached the room cautiously. The heat and strong scent of sex were irradiating softly through the open door, but Creed had steeled himself against it. Still, it attacked his senses, suffocatingly, when he entered. The woman was curled up in the bed, her face to where Creed had previously been, eyes closed. Her breathing was calm, but the saltiness of tears was very fresh. He approached the bed silently.

"Have a beer." The woman opened the eyes with a stiffening start, then breathed out and relaxed.

"You scare me," she protested softly as she got up, then grimaced while searching for a comfortable sitting position. "I'm sorry. I left de bed all wet off de tears."

"Thought ya said ya wasn't cryin'." The woman looked up at him, brown eyes guarded as her cheeks blushed lightly. Then she accepted the bottle.

"I wasn't crying." She looked at the bottle in her hands as she blurted the shameless lie. "I had something in my eye."

Creed took a couple of sips, never letting his eyes off her. She seemed composed enough, just a bit tired, disillusioned. 'Well, that's life,' he told her in his thoughts. He caressed her body with his gaze... the curve of the shoulder; the long hair fondling the creamy skin of her neckbone when she finally lifted the bottle for a shy sip; the small breasts, less luscious to the eyes but so intense to the touch; the well-toned stomach, creasing in two slender folds because of her slumped back; the round, inviting hips; the...

"You don't sit," she hardly voiced the words, her heart beat nearly drowning them. The glow on her cheeks intensified under his steady gaze and Creed licked his lips, standing stark naked and planning on staying that way until she stopped feeling embarrassed about it.

"Violent," he explained, "means ya're bleedin' all over. Means ya'll need medical attention ASAP or else. Maybe not even bother callin' no one 'cause ya're already gone. That's violent."

Had she changed her mind, had she asked him to stop, fought him... then it would have gotten violent.

"Look at me."

The woman raised her head, blushing harder as her eyes hurried up his body, her heart beat clearly audible, surrounded by a slight scent of apprehension. She wasn't beautiful. Pretty, maybe, when her eyes looked at him with stubborn decision and she looked incensed over something. Nevertheless, beautiful women didn't necessarily make him as hungry as this woman did. Creed felt himself grow back to life and downed the rest of the beer, putting the bottle on the bedside table. He so wanted her hands on him, to hear her cry out his name, begging him to get inside her and fuck her till she dropped. He sat on the bed, opposite her, taking a deep breath to curb his renewed lust. Right now, even if she didn't refuse him, she couldn't be further from pleading for more.

She tensed up as he sat, her gaze unsure where to fall on to avoid the sight of his naked body. Creed wetted his lips. "Look at me." Her eyes were anxious, and she swallowed hard when he took the bottle of beer out of her hands and placed it with the other one.

"It's like ya said. I got what I wanted and enjoyed it..." He reached for her hair and grabbed a few strands, rolling them around his finger. "But you didn't get what ya wanted."

Confusion replaced some of the anxiety. Creed let go of her hair and straightened up, giving her more room to breathe. "Well, now's yer chance."

He enjoyed the way suspicion and determination warred in her eyes for a minute. Then she tested him. "Maybe I want be alone."

He curbed a grin.

"I ain't gonna fuck ya again till ya asks fer it." There was a slight twitch of disbelief in her eyebrow, despite her attempt to remain expressionless. "I ain't sayin' I won't ask fer a blowjob if ya gimme a hard-on, mind ya, but that's all the fucking there's gonna be till _you_ says so."

Safety and control, the two things the woman prized the most, and he was giving them to her on a silver tray. She bit her lower lip.

"I don't like dat word, fuck. Is like an insult."

"It ain't no insult," he explained, still nice and easy. "It's just a word fer gettin' laid!"

"I learn de word like an insult, 'fuck you'." She insisted, determination settling in. "I only learn what is 'to fuck' later. So it always look like an insult. Why not say sex? Dat is de word for... uh... sex."

"Whatever. No sex till ya says so. Happy now?"

Obviously not. As if he could have expected to lure her into some foreplay that easily. She'd probably want to talk her head off first. "Uh... What is... hmm... bowjob?"

"Blowjob." Great. He'd have to go through the whole dictionary first. "It's you suckin' my dick."

She narrowed her eyes quizzically. "Does oral sex ring any bells fer ya?"

"Ah!" And she quickly glanced down, obviously measuring him and wondering how to avoid that particular price.

He was starting to lose his patience, but kept the prize he wanted in mind. "Or ya can just jerk me off," he added as an incentive. "Use yer hand 'stead o' the mouth."

She bit her lip more deeply and Creed's stomach growled. "Whatever! I'm gonna fix myself a snack. Lemme know when ya decide somethin'."

* * *

Creed was still naked, which had elicited some growling when the frying pan had decided to create a burst of simmering fat everywhere. Fortunately, he had only needed the meat to defrost, while getting its sides nice and ready, and soon sat down for a relaxing snack.

The house was solemnly silent, so he could hear with unwanted precision when the woman got up from the bed and wandered into the bathroom, keeping the water running into the washbasin for quite some time. Then he heard his wardrobe door being opened, and he nearly went back up and taught the woman to keep her curiosity in check, but then decided against. He could do that after eating; he didn't want the steak getting cold. Fortunately for the woman, her curiosity was short lived; which didn't mean she wasn't going to get some heat for it. He snorted as she started climbing down the stairs at an annoying snail's pace. When was he going to have some time to eat his relaxing snack peacefully!

When she finally arrived at the kitchen door, wearing a shirt that was far too big for her frame and made him want to rip it off her, Creed breathed out, guessing he could let her go with only a warning. However she got ahead of him. "I'm sorry I went get one your shirt... I didn't have my clodes in de room. Is it OK?"

"Ya can keep _that_ one," he conceded. "But ya have better avoid goin' through my stuff, woman."

She didn't say anything and stood at the doorway, as he swallowed a piece of meat and cut some more. Creed could feel her eyes on him and looked up, exasperated. "Whatch'ya lookin' at? Ain't ya ever seen a man eatin' before?"

"No if he's naked." She stated, flat as ice.

Now he was getting angry. "Look, I'm tryin' ta eat here. Ya don't keep yer eyes t'yerself, I'm gonna give ya a few more reasons fer hurtin', got it?"

"In de bedroom, you said I can get what I want. So I can... get what I want."

Creed suppressed his irritation as best he could. He was still hungry, and unless this was hurrying up towards round three of the night, he'd much prefer eating first. "And what is it ya wannna get, huh?"

She embraced herself, the loose shirt still hiding her shape, and shrugged. There was a hint of colour on her cheeks. "I want... see you."

" _That_ 's what ya want? What, ya're a voyeurist with a fetish fer naked-steak-eatin'-men?" There was that incensed look burning in her eyes, and there was nothing he'd have wanted more than to eat the darned steak off her body and then make her scream till she had no voice left. "Get out an' lemme eat."

As if she would. She embraced herself harder, and looked to the side, biting her lower lip in irritation. But it was only for a moment; then she looked back at him, eyes moist and angry.

"You went to de room and you say 'decide'. I decide, I come here and you say 'go away'. _You_ decide now: I stay, and I look at you what I want, or I go, and é o fim da história. Final point."

Creed put down the fork and knife and snarled. "Ya could've looked all ya wanted upstairs, but ya was busy lookin' everywhere else. Now, ya keep yer eyes t'yerself."

"But you were looking at me!"

"Yeah, I was. So what!?"

She blushed then opened her mouth to talk, but no sound came out and she ended up just blushing harder. She had no idea what she wanted, just as she had no idea what to do or say, Creed decided, which meant she'd do the first thing that got into her head and would stubbornly go through it no matter what. Taking a deep breath, he saw the wisdom of hinting at a sensible course of action that didn't put her in a collision route with his temper.

"Quit bein' a moron an' sit down."

The woman clenched her teeth and looked at the wall. Instead of forcing her to obey, though, Creed went to a cupboard and took out a dish. He got a fork and a knife from a drawer, and put everything on the table, opposite his seat. Finally he cut a small portion off his own steak and landed it roughly on the new dish.

"Sit down," He said one last time before sitting down himself. The woman hesitated for two whole seconds before starting to walk towards the table, slowly and carefully, which irritated him. He was going out of his way for the thankless brat and she did nothing but aggravate him. "Why're ya bein' slow on purpose, ya moron? Ya wanna get a beatin', just say so and we'll cut t'the chase!"

She paused, looking at him with purposeful anger. "It hurts when I walk normally."

Oh, right. He'd forgotten about that. She sat down cautiously then glared at the piece of meat. Well, at least she wasn't staring at him anymore. Hopefully he'd get to finish his meal quietly.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	12. Yielding

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **12\. Yielding**

Creed washed up his dish after finishing, then took a deep breath and steeled himself for another argument. The woman hadn't touched the meat, which he had cut off his own steak, but at least she wasn't sulking anymore. He wasn't going to start anything though; she might still get some sense in her head and curb her stubbornness. So he leaned on the kitchen counter.

"I'm not hungry," she said, looking up at him.

What a surprise. Throw her into a bit of adrenaline and she just forgot she needed to eat. Ah, what the hell! It was too late for more drama. Maybe she'd have gotten over her soreness and unhappiness in the morning.

"Well, I'm gonna get some sleep."

The girl seemed confused as he moved away but he didn't care. What a pity his room still had the musky scent of sex… and tears. Nope, that wouldn't do. So as he got to his room, he opened a window to let some fresh air in, then quickly pulled the sheets off the bed. But when he got to his closet, for a new set of sheets, he was surprised to see Irbis standing at the door. She'd got there fast enough. Wait, too fast.

"Need help to make de bed?" She must have noticed his expression because she blushed lightly before looking away. But then she breathed out. "I admit I exagerate a bit."

He didn't understand.

"Quer dizer, I'm hurting. I didn't exagerate _dat_. But I… I didn't feel like move fast, so I walk slow. Very slow."

Smart ass. Then she dared to give him a lopsided glare when he growled, aggravated.

"What? If I don't exagerate be slow, you don't even remember I'm hurting."

Well, if that was the case… Creed opened a drawer and fished a set of sheets, threw them onto the bed. "Get to work!"

Creed was almost surprised when she sighed and complied. She was still walking stiffly, true, but not in the aggravating slowness of before. She started unfolding the sheets half-heartedly, the shirt climbing up her thighs and flashing him invitingly. He wasn't so blind he didn't notice some movements were clearly painful, but she went about her job without complaints, which only wetted his appetite.

Well, she had mellowed down of her own accord, so why didn't he take advantage of that? She was starting on the second sheet when he cut in and finished the job himself, ignoring her suspicious gaze. When their eyes finally met, she was almost holding her breath.

"You can't beat me until I obey," she said quietly.

Uh? Where did that come from?

"Yeah, I know. It was pretty clear last summer."

She shook her head lightly.

"I am your woman," she said carefully. "But… you can't beat me to obey you and… please don't force me to make sex when I don't want."

Drama all over again.

"I've told ya…"

"Dat was you pretend and be nice. I know, and _you_ know, dat if you really want, you forget what you said about no sex until I say."

Well, at least she didn't believe everything folks said anymore.

"Look, girl, I don't need ta force ya none," especially since he wanted her willing, "'cause if I want, I can make ya beg fer me t'get in yer pants."

She didn't look convinced though. Worse, she was about to say it.

"I'm sorry, don't be angry. But after tonight, I don't think I believe you." She said it quietly, tiredly. A shrug of 'it's the way things are' that was mildly annoying. "You care about your uh… fun. You don't care if I or…"

"Get in bed."

The order shut her for a moment and then she paled, aprehension on her voice and a slight scent of fear around her.

"To sleep," she said uncertainly.

Great, now she was afraid of getting laid. Just great! The sooner he fixed _that_ , the better.

"Just get in bed." He watched her obey with aprehensive movements. "And ya mark my words, girl, if I tells ya I'm gonna make ya scream my name and beg fer more every time ya set yer eyes on me, ya have better believe me 'cause that's exactly what's gonna happen."

She looked up at him. For a long moment, he saw hesitation. He even smelt a whif of fear around her. But then her eyes hardened.

"I don't beg." Oh, really? She lay down on the bed, eyes stubbornely on his. "But now we sleep, right?"

She really shouldn't tease if she wanted to sleep.

"Ya don't beg, huh?" He slid into the sheets "Why ain't I surprised."

"Uh… De lights…"

"Leave 'em lights on. I want ya ta see what's comin'." She closed her eyes with a groan, which wasn't exactly the state of mind he wanted her in. "Relax! I said no sex till ya says so, and I meant it. But we can always have one of your 'advances on sex', right?"

She looked at him confused. She was too near the edge for him to work on her, though, so he pulled her over nearer to the centre of the bed. It was a good thing the girl not only didn't resist, but actually helped the process. He stradled her then, carefully not to touch her. Not just yet.

"Maybe ya won't beg," she was stubborn enough to maybe just pull it off, no matter how well he did his part, "But ya will be callin' my name, girl. And ya will be askin' me to keep goin' till the sun is up."

First thing was to get rid of that shirt. Using a claw, he popped button after button. She could sew them back on later, and he grinned at the idea.

"Ya can't wear any other of my shirts, only this one."

She was looking at him with stubborn apprehension and Creed got the feeling she'd bite her tongue before complaining even if he did hurt her. But she was probably as determined to not as much as let off a sigh of pleasure. Good thing he enjoyed a challenge.

Leaning down, he kissed her irresponsive lips lightly, before reaching for her ear lobe and nibbling it softly, softly. Her breathing quivered. That's it. He kissed her neck next, nibbling it near the shoulder. She was already sinking her head backwards, exposing her neck to his mouth. Oh, yeah. He'd have her icy determination thawed even before moving below the neck. As he tried her lips again, he found them parted and slightly more responsive, even if she didn't kiss back.

"Ya want me ta stop or d'ya want me t' continue?"

She opened her eyes to him and blinked twice, unmoving, her breathing slow but deep.

He kissed her neck lightly, just above her collar bone. "Well?" Then kissed it fully, making her gasp "eenesh".

Uh? He looked up at her eyes, burning with a deadly determination.

"Inês," she whispered. "Dat is my real name."

Okay, this had better not go back into drama.

"I don't think ya got how this works. Ya're supposed t'say my name, not yers."

She chuckled, which was good. No drama then.

"I say your name, you say my name. Right?" The way she breathed in deeply was too determined for him to think she was melting. But then again, he had barely started. "Victor."

He kissed her as a prize for that. This time she kissed back, abandonedly, which wasn't quite how he wanted it, but this was a night for baby steps. She was waiting for him to say her name now and he hesitated just a moment, licking his lips.

"Agnes," he purred playfully.

Oopsy, she didn't look happy. Chuckling he kissed her again and, naturally, she was as irresponsive as a block of ice. So he trailed kisses down her neck. When his hand caressed her firm stomach fleetingly, she couldn't help the shudder going up her body.

"Ya like that?"

She breathed heavily and he saw her roll her eyes, as if quickly going over her options. Yield, damnit. He let a claw slither down her stomach and she arched her back.

"Yes… I like, yes. Veetohr?"

That was a funny accent. "Yeah?"

"Please…"

He interrupted her with a kiss and she frowned, not responding immediatelly; but then she yielded and kissed back. It wasn't that hard, was it, yielding to him?

"Ya want me t'stop?"

She snorted and glared at him. She definitely had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen on anyone.

"I don't beg," she swallowed, breathing shallow. "I don't beg dat you continue, and I don't beg dat you say my name."

He held that enticing glare in silence, savouring it. Let her kick about all she wanted; begging or not, she was going to yield to everything tonight.

She licked her lips. "But I ask… Please. Victor. Veetohr. My name… no one knows my name except you now. Because I am…" Her eyes flashed and she seemed to regain confidence. Control. "When you say my real name, you make me your woman. Like a… a spoken tattoo."

He laughed. That was funny, and it reminded him of that tattoo he had imagined on her back. Ok then, he could play along with that. He kissed her neck and crossed over the frontier of her collar bone, down towards the valley between her breasts.

"Enash," he breathed teasingly, and grinned at the aggravation that grumbled through her chest. "Hey, ya say my name wrong too."

She pushed herself up on her elbows with a frowned grimace. "Well, I'm stupid to learn languages, remember? But you are de genius dat learn Spanish from ear." Then she softened her annoyed voice. "You can say my name right. If you want…"

"Maybe ya have t'make me want to."

She smirked but quickly killed it. What was going on in that little head of hers? For someone who professed absolute honesty she seemed to keep a lot to herself. Her eyes had a mischieveous glint to them, though.

"I thought you have to make me want first," the smirk pulled her lip again and again she subdued it. He'd rather she didn't, but at least she was getting over her fears. Time to move on, even if he was still far from getting serious. Although, if he was to keep himself in check and not fuck her again, it was better if he didn't get really serious. Good thing she melted at almost anything he did.

He lay his hand palm down over her stomach and she shuddered. Then he took it off suddenly, making her gasp in expectation. When he started snaking his claws over her skin in a winding upward motion, her breathing became shallow, her hands grabbing the sheet on each side. She quickly drowned a whimper when Creed's hand cupped her right breast and massaged it lightly. Grinning, he stopped touching her and stood on his knees. She opened her eyes, confused, and blinked at him.

"Ya want me ta stop?"

He didn't even bother to hide the grin. Unexpectedly, she smiled – a relaxed, unguarded movement – and rolled her eyes.

"No, don't stop," was that amusement in her voice? "I like dat… and I want more. More, more, more."

Both her hands alighted on his thighs and Creed's body shuddered, his breath almost caught at the pleasure that shook his cool.

"Make me forget everything," she had just whispered, when he grabbed her wrists roughly and pinned them to her sides.

"Ya wanna keep this as an advance," he said sternly, stupidly breahtless, to her surprised face. "Ya'll keep yer hands off me. Ya touch me again, and as far as I'm concerned, ya want me t'go all the way. Got it?"

She nodded a quick understanding, a mute sorry under their breaths. Right. Now, where were they… Ah, yes. Trying to breathe away the hard on, Creed let go of her wrists and kissed the nipple again. A single peck. And yet she arched her back.

"More," she demanded. It was true, then; she didn't beg. He didn't like beggers anyway.

He touched the nipple with his tongue before swallowing it, making her whimper and gasp for god in her native Portuguese. Letting a hand come to rest on her hip, he started suckling.

"Deus, Veetohr. Oh, Veetohr!"

He interrupted himself and she tried to look up at him, eyes glazed over with pleasure.

"Veetohr…"

Her expectant gaze was so easy to read. He almost didn't say it, but she was yielding nicely and maybe she'd be willing to go beyond these stupid advances.

"Yes, Eenesh?"

She blinked quickly, eyes suddenly moist even though she was smiling. This giving in of his had better not blow in his face.

"Please tell me how I can touch you…" Bingo! "But please… Please." How could she make it sound so demanding? "I want dat is good like dis."

Nice and slow and tender. Sure, no problems. He kissed her hungrily before swallowing down her other breast and suckling it hard. She yelped and he froze for a moment. Nice and slow; nice and slow.

"Não pares," she whimpered, and one of her hands clasped firmly on his head. "No stop, Veetohr."

She really didn't have to say it twice. And he made a mental note of those Portuguese words. Those were things worth knowing in any language.

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	13. Good-bye

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **13\. Good-bye**

Sitting down at the cyber café, Irbis felt like her old self – way back before being abducted from home. She felt absolutely confident, as if she had control over everything; and yet well she knew that she had never had so little control over anything. As for Victor Creed… ah, the man made her giddy! Her insides melted at the thought of him, her body aching to feel his electric touch; her mind sang the brightest, most victorious songs; and as she looked around, she knew herself to be the queen of the world. And why? Because Victor Creed, the ruthless hitman, had indeed given her the night of her life… if you ignored the opening act. That part was really best forgotten.

Naturally, it had needed some maneuvring; but with a man who thought of himself first and last, you wouldn't get anything for yourself if you didn't go about maneuvring a bit. Was that what made her feel so confident? The way she had subtly poked him to have something good come her way? He might be the devil, but he was first and foremost a man; and you can always nudge a man down the way you want if you know how to do it right. Her grandma Lilia had taught her that: men like to think they control the world and if you make sure they keep thinking it, you may find they are controling the world the way you want them to. The fact that the man was also trying to mold her into what he wanted only made the challenge more intense. She just had to be careful, which she intended to; and she had to be ready to face some painful or violent (even if not to him) moments every now and then, for as long as it wasn't too often. But she was on her feet! She was rebuilding her life, step by step. It was all a matter of focusing on what she could have and avoiding thinking about what she had lost.

Irbis took a note from her bag and got ready to copy the message. Jubilee had written her quite a few emails, and Irbis had already started getting the girl used to short and less than frequent answers.

 _Hi, Jubilee. You'll never guess!_

Irbis carefully prepared every email beforehand, copying phrases and even sentences from other sources whenever possible to make believe her written English was better than it was. She even verified each and every word's spelling in the dictionary! Funny how she had never bothered much about it with Victor, when she was writing him letters, but she felt thoroughly ashamed to reveal her low level of English to the girl.

 _Remember the man I told you about? Mike. He telephoned me and he visited me too. He has proposed! And I accepted of course! I shall leave California and I shall go live with him to Texas! I'm so happy! Please say you are happy because of me too!_

Now the final detail…

 _P.S: I write more when I can, but I'm busy busy (and happy happy HAPPY) so please don't worry if I don't respond immediately. : )_

There! Send. In five days, she'd send a follow up email, then she'd start writing less and less often. In the meantime she had much to do! As Irbis left the cybercafé, she mentally ticked one more task from her to do list. Now she only had to go back to her apartment and bake the farewell cake. The family she was working for might have been glad enough for her that they released her from continuing working (although it must have helped that Irbis refused to receive any payment for the unfinished week), but Irbis wanted to make up to them in some way. Chocolate cake and some biscuits. That would surely make a nice farewell gift. Ah, she had nearly forgotten! She needed some postcards to send Jubilee from her imaginary honeymoon.

Frowning at the complex lie, Irbis turned sharply around. Victor would have to let her… That face! The man turned into a shop, but Irbis was sure, deadly sure… It was one of the mercs that had captured her and Creed in Madison and then hunted them down to Dallas. Without thinking, she crossed the road, barely breathing. Her eyes spotted the movement in a shop and she shot inside with the old warning resounding in her head: in case of danger, head for busy areas. Criminals don't attack individuals in public places, they shy away from crowds. But they had attacked Irbis at a café once; Irbis and Creed. In Madison. My God, it was like a lifetime ago!

As she entered the building, she registered it as a clothes store and blindly picked something from a rack as she continued walking away from the entrance. She needed to call Creed. Reaching for the bag, she fished the phone out and started writing a text: "man of Madison and Dallas". She searched her English vocabulary for the right expression but couldn't think of anything. Damn, why hadn't she just sat down and memorised the damn dictionary once and for all? She had the memory to do it if she wanted. Why did she have to be lazy and not bother to improve on the blasted language?

Unable to refrain from looking behind, she searched all the faces but she recognised no one. Still, if they had stormed that café in Madison, they could storm a clothes shop. They might be about to do it any moment now. She sent the message and felt slightly better; at least the man would be aware that something was wrong, and he'd surely put two and two together and understand they were stalking her. Ah, she got it!, and quickly texted 'folow me'. There. Now she just had to wait for him to come and get her. Only he was an hour away. What could she do to keep herself out of harm's way until… Irbis looked around her again, the idea freezing her. What if they weren't stalking her for her sake, but because of Creed? I mean, why would they even come after her? There was absolutely no reason she could think of! They had always been after Creed. And she had just called him into a trap.

Irbis rubbed her face, confused and frustrated. She needed to _think_! And to get away from her stalkers before Creed came in. Breathing out some tension and breathing in some more, she told herself she had one hour to fix the problem. Less than an hour. All around her, people were focused on their lives: looking at the clothes they might or might not buy, chatting to friends, texting, talking on the phone… It was worth a try. She picked up her phone again and acted as if she was reading a message then suddenly let out a breathless 'NO!'.

Movement around slowed down for a moment, but most people didn't pay her much attention. Still, the show was on and she hurried to the counter, as much panic on her voice as she could muster.

"Please, can you help?" The woman on the other side frowned and Irbis could almost feel tears bubble up. Right on cue. "My broder… I… I just have de message, my broder had an accident and he's in hospital. Please, you have de number of a taxi? Is an emergency! Please!"

And Irbis swallowed a pre-tear choke, a hand already over her mouth, eyes closed as if she was about to fall apart. The woman on the other side started comforting her and Irbis opened her eyes. Three young women were looking at her from one of the racks. She turned to the woman at the counter, choking a thank you so badly the sound didn't come out. Tears were finally making an appearance too. The woman then offered to call the taxi herself and Irbis nodded a teary thank you that was a bit more understandable.

She had to wait a few minutes, though, which meant adding more details. She said he was in L.A., that she had to go to him immediately, that he could die any moment, that she couldn't… God, this couldn't be happening! It couldn't! Tommy, she named him. Her little brother. Oh, God, why… And the taxi arrived! It was about time, too. For a moment, it occurred to her that one of the mercs could have killed a real taxi driver and taken his place to kidnap her. She should have thought about it earlier, damnit! It was too late now, though. Hoping for the best, she thanked her supporters as she entered the taxi.

"Los Angeles, please," she choked one last time. But then she remembered that the man would want a more specific address and she had no idea what hospital she could say. Sniffing to gain some time, she thought it over. Oh well, the city would have several hospitals. "I tell you de name of de hospital de moment I know. Please, just go!"

The man took off then, and Irbis was careful not to breathe out in relief. She had to maintain the farse, after all. And she needed to think. The mercs could easily follow the taxi, so she definitely couldn't go to LA. The best option would be a train, since a bus could easily be caught up with, not to mention a train station has multiple platforms! She could buy a ticket to a place, jump onto a different train at the last moment and get off at the first stop claiming a mistake. Then she could get on… whatever was nearby. Drats, money! She searched for her purse and checked how much she had... not much, but enough. It had to be.

Getting the phone, she went over to the settings and chose a new ringtone. As the sound bipped up, she quickly switched it off and blurted an anxious 'yes'?

"I can't hear you, dad! What? Really?! Ok. Where? Yes, ok. Ok."

She put it away and knocked on the plexiglass.

"My dad just called," she informed, even though the man wouldn't be the least interested in those details. Nevertheless, she fancied it made her lie more real. "He is going to LA, and I go wid him. Can you please, I'm sorry about de change, but can you leave me in de train station? He waits for me dere."

"Yeah, sure."

Now she let herself sit back and breathe out some relief. Buying a ticket to LA and then boarding a train elsewhere… would that be wise or would it give away her destination? Creed hadn't texted back… had he seen her warning? Oh, what did it matter? He was too far, anyway. She was on her own and she needed to use her brain. There was no other way out of it. The taxi stopped and Irbis quickly gave him his fare, waiting anxiously for the change. When she got on the street, she looked around, searching for the mercs. Nothing suspicious, no one. She had got herself some time, so she had better not waste it.

Since she wasn't sure how to use the ticket machines, not under such pressure, she went to the counter. There was a longish queue that made her nervous, but she resisted the urge to keep on glancing about. It would just call everyone's attention. So she forced herself to breathe calmly as the queue inched slowly forward. She'd ask for a ticket to LA, she decided. The woman in front of her reached for the counter. Almost there now. A shadow crossed her vision and Isabel blinked, frowning. Strangely, her vision was off, somehow; not blurry but… the sudden vertigo had her leaning against the back of the woman who turned around sharply, her voice echoing incomprehensibly, as Irbis's legs started losing solidity. As if in slow motion, Irbis felt herself falling but a strong hand caught her. Tears started flowing blindly as she tried to make a sound, in vain, her eyes unable to focus.

"It's ok," she barely understood the voice at her side. "I'm a doctor."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	14. Dead

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **14\. Dead**

Creed had spent nearly two weeks searching for the hideout where Irbis was being kept. He'd gone through berserker rages and cold vengeful plans while at it, especially on those first days when all he had to go on was the woman's cryptic message. He nearly wished she hadn't yet severed all her connections to the X-Men, as telepaths might have come in useful in the search.

Surveying the abandoned flat block, Creed got a pair of night vision binoculars from the backpack. He might not be used to extracting live targets, but he wasn't planning a real extraction. He just needed to locate the woman and secure her before killing everyone on the site. Then he would extract her.

Nearly two weeks… They had had time for everything and anything! She had been raped, beaten and tortured, that much he was certain, the only question dangling in his mind was whether she was still alive. In most cases, bait would flush out a hero whether said bait was dead or alive, but Creed knew that when it came to villains it tended to be best to keep baits alive. They could lose interest otherwise and delve straight into payback mode and there really was no sense in getting rid of potential leverage. He hoped the assholes had kept that in mind.

There was nothing suspicious on the premises, except for the absence of homeless people and the securely closed entrances. There was graffiti over the doors but, from his position on the roof of the opposite building, the doors seemed to be as solid as a safe.

Unfortunately, Irbis wasn't just bait. She had killed one of the so-called Colonel's men, apparently his brother, if Creed's research over the two weeks wasn't mistaken. That made her capture personal and the torture a given. He just hoped they didn't push it too hard and got her killed before they intended. Torture on account of personal grudges is often taken too far too easily. Which also led to the question if the woman would be viable for a rescue or was damaged beyond recovery, which meant she was only good for a mercy kill.

Creed put the night vision binoculars back in the bag and got thermal imaging binoculars. They couldn't overcome the barrier of walls and glass, unfortunately, but they could tip him to which floor was producing more heat.

Then there was the possibility that she wasn't bait at all; that the Colonel had targeted her alone and didn't give a damn about catching big bad Sabretooth. If that was the case, Irbis would only be alive if the guy intended to torture her for as long as possible and had a hell of self-control.

But no. The man was a professional. He'd want the two in one deal; if for no other reason, because Creed had been the one killing the supposed brother. Irbis had tortured him, true; but Creed was the one who'd snuffed him.

The third floor. They must have machinery running there, besides the lights being on, which had the walls slightly warmer than the rest of the building. Right. Time to start the show.

The building was too far off from any neighbouring structure for him to jump onto it, so he approached its back and started climbing up the wall. The windows on the first floor looked as hermetically shut as the doors, but Creed expected the second floor to be less impervious. He was careful to keep any noise to a minimum – the extra guns and knives he was carrying always required extra care when it came to noise. It was one of the reasons he'd rather just use his claws, besides his natural preferrence, naturally. But if Irbis was still alive and rescueable, he might need to kill folks from afar in order to keep her safe, hence the guns and knives.

As he reached the second floor, he noticed the windows were also firmly shut. Drats. Forcing an entrance on the third floor was off the table, so it was either the fourth floor or the roof. He stopped briefly by a third floor window and sniffed it, looking for any scent that might squeeze through the tight openings. Nothing. Pushing himself upwards, he was forced to go as far as the roof.

The door on the roof must either be booby-trapped or have an alarm, but there was no other way in. He'd really rather keep his presence unkown, especially because the woman might be anywhere on the four-storey building. Creed lay down on the floor and peeked through the space between the door and the floor, sniffing. No explosive, apparently. He got a snake pinhole camera through the narrow entrance and switched on the night vision mode. Turning it round and round, it seemed at first that the door was simply locked but, as that seemed too unlikely, he insisted, paying close attention to the door lock and to hidden nooks. It was almost five minutes later that he found it, the laser aimed at the lock. It was a silent alarm. The moment the door opened, they'd know he was there.

Creed got his bag off his back and got his secret weapon out: a six inch adamantium dagger. It was a feminine looking thing – as well it should be, since he'd gotten it from a woman he'd been hired to kill a couple of years ago – but it was stealthy. He'd palmed it almost out of principle, since adamantium was hard to get by, but had ended up using it a few times when he'd had to make his own entry into places he, for whatever reason, couldn't storm. In less than five minutes, he'd opened a large pet door for him to sqeeze through.

Bag back on, he slid down the stairs, careful not to trigger any alarms, because they were there, waiting for him. By the time he got to the fourth floor landing he had already avoided two. He sniffed the air, stale and dusty, and pressed on, averting a third alarm. As he started down the stairs onto the third landing, though, he picked on recent, and not so recent, scents. One of the scents had him quickly suppress a growl. It was the scent of death.

For a moment, he was ready to forget the whole stealth thing and just burst into mayhem mode, but he couldn't be absolutely sure Irbis was the one giving off that scent. There could be more folks there… and he mustn't forget how the woman had survived the desert. Eating raw snake and drinking blood. If someone could survive two weeks of torture, it was that stubborn woman of his. If she got it into her head not to die, not even Death itself… Creed breathed out. Who was he kidding? She may be tough but... He could smell two handfuls of people, although most scents seemed old. It made sense if the woman was dead, he supposed. Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Find the woman, or her body, and then kill everyone. That's what he had come here for.

As he continued down to the third floor, there seemed to be no more alarms. Creed could smell Irbis's scent. It was particularly strong towards the left. Just as strong as the scent of blood and of… He suppressed the growl, aggravated. He knew she had been raped (it was the most natural thing to happen, and repeatedly too, if one thought sensibly), so why was that smell pushing him towards a berserker rage? At least he'd called first dibs, icy comfort as that may be. And that's when it hit him.

Creed froze for a second. The scent of death came from the right, but Irbis was very clearly to the left. Hope quickly rekindling, he listened more attentively, sniffed more carefully. There were two men to the right. Back in Madison and in Dallas, the mercenaries had had some sort of technology to hide their scents; but unless they knew he was coming in, they'd have no reason to hide in the shadows so silently, especially when the voices he heard were talking in a casually relaxed way. No, there were only two people in the building, besides him. Who had died, then? Again, no. It wasn't time for questions, not just yet.

Swiftly, an eye out for surveillance cameras, he advanced through the corridor. The two men were discussing football and, when Creed jumped in on them, they were just sitting around in a room with a few monitors. They were so relaxed, they didn't even notice him until he had caught one of them by the neck. The black guy sitting opposite just froze mid-sentence, watching his colleague gasp for a difficult breath.

"Where's the Colonel?"

"shit" While the reaction was fairly appropriate, it was not what he had asked. "shit shit shit"

Creed shook the guy he was holding by the neck.

"This neck ain't gonna stay in one piece fer long, and ya're next in line, asshole. So where's the big man behind the circus?"

"Look, we're just technicians, man," Creed growled and eased the tension on the neck he was holding. Not because of the desperate man's nails clawing at him, but because he seemed to be trying to sputter something.

"Left," the guy wheezed. "left... gone..."

"Where to?" And then, cueing in one the 'we're just technicians' excuse. "Technicians of what?"

The guy ahead swallowed, his body shaking in fear. Creed looked at the one he was still holding. That one had already pissed and crapped himself, tears and snot running down his face. If these were torture experts, they sure knew how to act like nerds who'd only ever done virtual torture, and the clean type, too. The large room they were in sported state of the art surveillance technology on a wall, even if the monitors were all switched off, a bunch of mops and detergents to the other side, and medical material near the window, including a cardiac defibrillator.

"Who the fuck are you already?"

"Look, all we do is make sure the place is clean and running, that all the technological stuff is working, that everyone gets their food on time, and that the prisioners don't accidentally die... that's all. Once the prisioners are done in, everyone goes home and we clean up. That's it."

Creed dropped the guy, who fell in a heap, wheezing and coughing, and took a couple of steps towards the other one. Snarling viciously, even if the growl was rather mild, he unsheathed his claws and the whimp backtracked into a wall.

"We don't know where they've gone, ok? It ain't none of our business! We don't go about asking questions, we just do as told, that's it!"

"Who died?"

"The prisioner and the telepath."

Creed frowned. The prisioner? Did he mean Irbis? But he had smelled her alive, if not necessarily well. Could it be someone else?

"Who was the prisioner? What happened?"

"It was this Hispanic woman... she had thirty minute sessions with the telepath every six hours. She was pretty tough, you know, but they pushed her too hard 'cause she kicked it the fourth or fifth time they autopsied her."

What? That didn't make any sense! Of course a person will die if you start an autopsy. The fourth one? The guy must have seen the confusion on his face and bet his life on his ability to provide information.

"It's a telepathic autopsy, you know. She wasn't supposed to die, just blackout from the pain and the shock. Then the telepath would reawake her and change scenarios. The first time, he went as far as starting to remove her heart; she was that tough. Nobody thought she'd keel like that after _that_ session; caught everyone by surprise. Especially the telepath; he didn't make it out."

"And she's _dead_?" But he'd smelled her!

"Yeah, completely. You know, no brain activity, no heart activity, no nothing. Dead. We're supposed to get the body ready for removal first thing in the morning."

He was telling the truth, Creed could tell; but he had _smelled_...

"When was this?"

"About six hours ago or so. The Colonel was really pissed, I can tell you. We had to try and resuscitate her for over half an hour before he finally gave up on her."

Frustrated, Creed reached for the whimp and knocked him out. The wheezing fellow trying to act dead on the floor could fill him in on more details if need be. Nevertheless, he kicked him a couple of times for good measure before leaving the room. He followed the scent of death into another room, further to the right. It had two hospital cots but only one had side rails and restraining devices. They were both next to machinery to monitor brain waves and other body functions. Coming closer to it, he confirmed that the scent of death was stronger in the cot not used by Irbis. And yet everyone thought she was dead.

He left the room and swiftly jogged in the opposite direction. With each step, he sniffed the air again and again until the scents almost echoed in his nose. She did not smell dead!

The door was wide open. Why close it when the prisioner is dead, right? He found himself slowing down, almost stopping, as he reached the entrance to the room. He really wanted her to be alive. Wary, Creed entered and clenched his teeth. This was not the time to get emotional over his belongings and go berserk. Her body was sprawled on a thin mattress, like a dropped corpse. Naked. Trying not to breathe in the scent of the repeated raping, he forced himself to analyse the area. Bruised. Scratched and wounded. No blood, though. He forced his eyes off her broken body but only reached the mattress, covered in bloody stains, not old, either, and in tell-tale yellowish stains, fresher still if possible. He looked around as he finally entered, noticing a bathtub and a toilet to one side, both filthy, and two cameras covering all the angles of the square room.

Creed knelt next to the body. Her chest was as still as a corpse's but, although she was pale under the bruises, her lips weren't even remotely bluish. He put two fingers to her neck, looking for a pulse. The problem was that he should be able to hear her heartbeat if she were alive. Nothing. Then why didn't she _smell_ dead?!

What did he do now?

Indecision aggravated him!

She was _not_ fully dead yet. He made that decision in an emotional burst. She belonged to him and she didn't smell dead, not yet, so she could be resuscitated. Even after six hours? Yes, even after six hours! After three fucking days if he said so! Like a fucking Lazarus. In a frenzy, he started CPR.

"Com'on, girl," he coached with a growl. "Ya survived this long, ya stupid asshole, ya mean ta tell me ya're gonna give up like a fuckin' loser?"

He felt stupid, talking to the lifeless body. Like those stupid films where the magic ingredient to stave off death is telling the dying pricks how strong they are, how needed they are, how loved they are.

"Com'on, Irbis," as he re-heard the black guy explaining they'd tried to resuscitate the woman for half an hour. "Ya're stronger than this."

If he kept pressing her chest like that, he'd end up breaking a rib or two.

"Come ON!"

"Irbis!" Frustrated, he slapped her. "Wake up already! Ya ain't gettin' away from me that easy, girl! Not like this!"

Breathing hard, he closed his eyes. He could hear her, in his head, saying she didn't beg. Calling his name. Teasing him into calling her name. That stupid foreign accent of hers, Veetohr, Eenesh. Damn her!

"Eenesh," he called through gritted teeth. "Wake, up. _Eenesh_!"

He got up, taking deep breaths to keep the berserker rage at bay. He paced the room and found himself next to her. He slapped her two, three times then shook her until he realised that could easily break her neck and then she really would die. He took one hand from her shoulder and slid it up to the back of her neck, feeling for anything broken... no, everything seemed in place. Looking at her face, her rosy lips (they'd always been reddish, even without make-up), he felt his cool slip away and pulled her to him, rocking her body mindlessly, breathing out his anger, frustration, pain...

"If ya think I'm gonna beg fer ya ta wake up, girl... I don't beg anymore than ya do." He spit through clenched teeth, cradling her even harder against his chest, nesting her head onto his shoulder. "Eenesh!"

He closed his eyes against the lifeless reality of the body in his arms.

"Eenesh..."

His eyes were burning saltily when he growled, still lulling the limp body.

"I'm gonna kill'em all." It was still warm, her body! "I'm gonna..."

He could almost see himself getting up and going down the corridor to kill those two assholes before going on a rampage after the fucking Colonel, but his arms refused to let go of that warm body. It was the only sign of life in her, even if the temperature was below what a normal live body would give off. That and her lips. I mean, if your heart stops, your body stops receiving oxygen and your lips turn bluish in a few minutes. Hers were rosy! After six hours of supposed cardiac arrest! No, she was not dead. She was in some sort of... of... coma. Suspended animation. Her heart had not stopped, it had just diminished its activity to a minimum, and her whole body had shut down in order to survive with that minimum. That's why they didn't register brain activity – there's nothing like brain activity to suck up a body's oxygen – it had all been pulled into minimal levels, way beyond what machines could register. But how could he wake her up?!

He was killing them all, nonetheless. Creed carefully looked at her face again, petted her cheek. She'd been like that for six hours; she could wait five minutes while he started avenging her kidnap.

"I'll be right back, Eenesh."

* * *

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.


	15. Liability

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

* * *

 **15\. Liability**

It had taken nearly twenty minutes, but Creed was finaly putting the still limp body on the back seat of the car. He thoughtfully rolled the windows down so she could have some fresh air before covering her naked and battered body with some coarse blankets. Finally, he got in the car and drove away from the city. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay in the city, not with the woman's life still hanging on the line. If the Colonel got a new scentless unit to hunt him down, like in Dallas, the city would be his perfect hunting ground; but out in the woods... scent or no scent, they wouldn't stand a chance.

After an hour driving, he pulled over to check on the woman. Wilderness areas near California were mostly wide brush expanses and what he needed was a forest to give him cover. He opened the door to the back and brushed the hair off her face. At least she seemed peaceful. They still had a lot of ground to cover, especially before morning. That, if all went well, would be when the Colonel would come back to collect the woman's body and instead find the two dead staff guys. He would take at least one to two hours to put together a team to start searching, and as much as he might guess Creed had left the city, he wouldn't jump on that guess without first making sure. Unless he had enough men to run the chase in both fronts.

Creed sniffed Irbis. She still didn't smell dead, but she did stink of all the men who had raped her. He should have used the filthy bath and washed those offending scents off her, but it was too late now.

"Eenesh," he called as he once more checked for a heart beat. "Can ya hear me, girl?"

He pressed two fingers hard onto her neck, clenching his teeth at the absence of... His own heart skipped a beat. Was that... He put his ear to her chest, listening intently. It was! It was barely there, but he could hear it: a heart beat! Steady, if sluggish. This changed everything! He carefully checked her breathing and detected just a slight movement of air. She was slowly coming to. Creed banged the door and hurried to the driver's seat. He needed to get her somewhere safe, and fast. He didn't start the engine, though, his head thinking furiously.

Everyone thought her dead, and everyone would know he had found his woman dead. He was expected to go into a berserker rage and maim all the involved and if he didn't... there would only be one explanation. The woman was alive and he was falling back in order to protect her. That would not do. No. He had to take the risk and leave her alone, somewhere secluded, abandoned, where no one would find her. Then he had to kill everyone involved as fast as possible to return to her side. To make sure she did come back from her coma.

Right. A secluded place.

* * *

Irbis felt... ill. A monster flu with a high fever, making your bones feel like jelly and your muscles shiver painfully as your teeth chatter due to an inner cold that no amount of blankets can abate. Only one thousand times worse. Her stomach churned and she tried to open her eyes. She wasn't going to throw up all over her bed. Instead of obeying, her eyes remained closed and her whole body spasmed in a crazy shiver that worried her. She had never felt like this from the flu. She tried to move but her body ignored her mental commands, instead causing random flinching. What...

"Eenesh," that voice... "easy now, girl."

Her stomach tossed violently and she heard herself whimper. Then she noticed the arms, the body... it was holding her tight, warmly. Suddenly, she was certain they had been there, keeping her safe, for a long time and she relaxed. But it was a moment.

"I know ya can hear me, girl." Creed. Victor. She tried to open her eyes again. "Yeah, that's it, girl. I knew ya was stronger than that."

The embrace melted away and she felt a sudden panic fill her up, as if a sudden pain was about to pull her into hell. Breathlessly, she fought to open her eyes.

"Ya're safe here." The light growl underneath his voice was so soothing, protective.

When Irbis finally forced her eyes open, he was right there is front of her. She smiled, relief barely softening her shivering muscles. He was deadly serious though. What happened? She had meant to ask it aloud, but her throat didn't even make a sound. He clenched his teeth and she could see he was upset, even as his hand cupped her face gently. What _had_ happened?

"What do you remember?"

Remember? For a moment, her memory was a blank. Then she remembered their night together, remembered how she had had three days to close the door on her Californian life before returning to... The mercs. It came like a flood, in no particular order, just shocking bits and pieces, burning pain and icy despair. Her stomach churned brutally and she was taken over by dry heaving.

"Easy, now. Easy..." His body was warm and strong as she leaned on him, his hand soothingly on her forehead as her body kept retching in vain. "Ya'll be fine now. Just fine."

Irbis closed her eyes and focused on that word. Fine.

"Ya've been out fer over 24 hours," he was saying as if from afar. "Here, drink this an' then ya gonna try an' eat somethin'. Yer body won't start recoverin' till ya start feedin' it proteins it can work with. Hey, are ya listenin' t'me? Eenesh?"

* * *

The problem of being tortured by a telepath, especially if you had never dealt with telepaths before, was that they could get pretty much any information they wanted. From what Irbis had said, though, getting information hadn't been their first priority. The Colonel had wanted her hurting, period. But what if the telepath had very simply erased the memories of the intel extraction? What if the reason for keeping her alive, and her body in fairly good state (not even a single bone or tooth broken!), was brainwashing the girl into becoming their little spy? A sort of Dalilah. How could Creed be absolutely certain they hadn't got every detail there was on his safe haven in Wausau? How could he be certain they hadn't implanted her with a 'kill him now' command that she wouldn't be able to override?

And the woman was no dummie; she knew she couldn't really trust her memories, not after having a telepath ransacking through her head for nearly two weeks.

"Dinner is ready!"

Creed looked away from the sunset, his vision plagued with black spots from watching the orangy ball slowly approaching the ocean, and looked at the bungalow. Irbis was standing at the door, waiting for him. She was wearing a T-shirt and loose fitting jeans, her dark wavy hair caught in a low ponytail. She was trying hard to act normally, but the dark rings under her eyes testified how much she avoided sleeping.

"You come?"

Creed got up with a grunt. The bungalow was in the middle of the Mexican nowhere so he could easily identify anyone approaching. He was known for heading North when things got rough, so he had figured taking the woman south would be a good idea. Especially after that killing spree he'd gone through back in LA... he better not show his face there any time soon. And as much as Mexican doctors might have a rep for being hopeless and third world worthy, the right motivation turned them into excellent professionals. Not to mention they at least knew how to work in less than perfect conditions. You get a doc all used to shiny technology, and he's as good as useless in the back country.

Irbis was already putting the fish stew on the plates when he came in and sat down. She smiled up to him. Well, at least she was smiling. She hadn't been able to do it for the first two days after coming to.

"So... we leave in three days, right?"

Nodding, Creed sat down. Mexico had been a good idea for keeping low over the first two weeks, but he would feel much more comfortable once he had stashed her away in a little cabin he owned in Canada. He just wanted her to be seen one last time by that female doc he'd gotten for her and to get all the results of her medical exams. Then they'd be off.

"I need to go to de market tomorrow." She sat down and tried to pretend the idea didn't upset her. "Is a long voyage to Canada and I want prepare some snacks."

"Sure. I'll take ya out there first thing tomorrow."

She nodded nervously and ate some of the fish. The first time he had taken her to the market to get some basic cooking ingredients, right at the beginning of their arrival, she had been such a frightened wreak that she'd thrown up. Twice. Nevertheless, the woman had refused to leave the place before the shopping was done. The reason to be afraid was in the past, she had said, and she would not give the assholes the satisfaction of ruining her life. Nevertheless, Creed didn't expect her to be at ease in the middle of a crowd anytime soon.

"What you think? I can make fresh bread and fatiated meat..."

Fatiated? Sometimes it felt like she had given up improving her vocabulary. " _Sliced_ meat."

"Isso," she said with a dismissive hand movement. "And croquetes, fried chicken... ah, uns pasteizinhos de bacalhau. I never did before but I know you will love."

No doubt he would, whatever those were. She was a great cook after all.

"And maybe we can stop in a market in California," she said, a hand fleetingly playing with the golden cross around her neck. "In a area wid Portuguese communities? Maybe? Dey have dis chourisos dat are delicious. What you think? Is possible?"

Creed nodded, "sure."

He'd bought her the cross at her request. To replace the one she supposedly had had with her since she was a baby and which had been taken away from her when she had first been abducted and brought to the USA. It was the only thing he didn't quite like about the woman, really, this sudden religious streak, even if she swore she had always prayed religiously at least once a day. Still, the sooner they got away from churches, the sooner she'd stop having an excuse to go to one. Especially since he wasn't exactly letting her out of his sight, which meant he was forced inside the stupid places.

Irbis breathed out harshly and turned her head abruptly towards the window. Creed looked out immediately, wondering if she had seen something suspicious. But no, she hadn't. By now it was too dark outside for her to see anything. Probably just wondering how to stay up as long as possible.

That was something that worried him a bit, the way she would wake up from nightmares complaining that she physically hurt. If she dreamt that, say, her left arm had been skinned, she'd wake up in such pain that she actually had to bite down a scream if he touched it. He had never heard of telepathic torture sessions leaving that type of sequel. Then again, most torture sessions he'd heard about, or participated in (one way or the other), were usually everything but psychic matters, so maybe it was normal.

He glanced up from his food to check she was still looking thoughtfully out the window, her right hand holding the little gold cross. The whole thing had been just two weeks ago, he told himself, and the woman was stubborn enough to get over the whole drama and trauma by herself. She just needed some more time, that was all.

"Ya ain't eatin'."

She snapped from her reverie with a weak smile and picked the knife but then she breathed out with resolve.

"I think we need to talk..." Creed frowned. Now what? "You say we go to Mexico and I say ok, now you say we go to Canada and I say ok, and..."

"What? Ya wanna stay in Mexico?" Like hell. Nice place and all, but it wasn't his natural environment. Couldn't be further, actually.

Irbis shook her head, though. "I think... dis is all wrong."

What the hell was she talking about? "I've told ya before, girl, leave the thinkin' t'me. Ya know it ain't yer strong suit."

She glared at him. She was getting better alright. He hadn't seen her glare at anything since he'd saved her.

" _Dis_ ," she dropped the fork and knife to gesture widely, as if encompassing the table and the bungallow. "You are practically babysit me for two weeks. You said you want me because I am convenient in cook and house clean and... and now sex. But dis, you babysit me, dis is not convenient to you. Is all wrong."

Creed shrugged. "It's only till ya're back on yer feet. 'Sides, I've told ya: ya're _mine_. I'm gonna make sure ya're back in top condition. So this whole inconvenience thing is temporary. _Very much_ temporary."

If for one split second Creed had not believed the woman capable of fully recovering to her old self, he wouldn't have bothered. But she was stubborn and she was not willing to bow down to her weaknesses. She'd bounce back soon enough. The woman didn't seem convinced, though, and she shook her head.

"I can't fight," she grumbled.

"No, that ya can't," he agreed. "Ya're as helpless as a newborn."

That earned him a new glare. Two weeks of torture and all it took the woman was another two weeks for her spirit to start flashing back to its old self. Yeah, he'd chosen the right woman for the job. No doubts about it.

"What I am trying to say is dat... if your enemies want attack you, dey can use me. I'm a weak point to _you_."

Simple, logical fact. His instict, the one he'd been ignoring for quite a few months now, grunted an annoyed 'duh' that had Creed growling lightly.

"Why don't ya learn some English? The word is _liability_."

And of course he knew she was a liability!

"Isso," she blurted, obviously not bothering to learn the word at all. "If your enemies know you have me... I'm perfect for dey to attack to attack you. It doesn't interest if I am your woman near you or your woman away from you. If dey know about me, dey attack me, and _you_. So is obvious dat you should kill me, not help me get well."

Of course he knew he should kill her before someone else did! Of course he knew... And, for some reason he couldn't understand (beyond the obvious fact that his unconscious enjoyed aggravating him), Creed couldn't help but recall what he had told Logan... that he didn't have the guts to do what had to be done. To kill the woman. Native. Irbis.

"I'm sorry dat I say what you don't want hear. But I don't want dat you do a mistake because of me."

But it was no mistake because, unlike Logan, Creed had the guts to kill the woman. _If_ he wanted, and right now he didn't want to. But he could still kill her anytime. He had killed Bonnie, hadn't he? Ah, Bonnie... She was already dead, his mind quipped in. Mercy kills don't count. Native hadn't been a mercy kill. Irbis...

Creed shook his head. Irbis's situation was completely different from Native's. First of all, any project goons that might be interested in Irbis thought her dead; every project goon who might've been interested in Native knew she was alive. And as for the mercs... so their expert torturer had gotten away, so what! He thought Irbis had died. Everyone thought Irbis was dead. Everyone! And, besides, they had matched Native up with _the Wolverine_ , whom everyone wanted to use as their pet guinea pig. Irbis had matched up with... well, maybe not really matched up but... Anyway, there wasn't anyone interested in using _him_ as a lab rat. They had never wanted him for anything other than doing their stupid dirty work. Be their personal hunting hound.

"I don't want dat someone uses me to hurt you."

What she meant was that she didn't want to have a target on her forehead, and being his woman sure as hell meant having a whole bunch of targets all over her.

"I'll keep ya safe," he grunted. The words bitter in their déjà vu. He hadn't been able to keep Bonnie safe. Anger growled in his chest. But he would do it for Irbis. She was _his_ , damnit! He would keep her safe, no matter what!

Only he knew, better than anyone, he knew that no protection job was guaranteed, unlike a hit. It was always a simple matter of timing, no matter how many bodyguards and security measures the vic might pile up. A patient hitman would hold his ground waiting for the right moment to overcome the best protection. He'd done it thousands of times.

If she were targeted, Irbis would always be as good as dead. Unless he killed her first, of course, or unless...

Unless she were never targeted! That was it! It would only take killing everyone and anyone who might have the slightest grudge against him. Or who had ever heard of him. It wouldn't be an easy task, but it wasn't exactly impossible. He could do it if he wanted to. He could. There was no one gonna come and take away what was his, not again. They'd been doing it all his life! He'd work hard, getting something for himself – a name, a safe house, the perfectly rigged wheels, a woman... – and then someone just had to come and ruin it all for him. But not this time. Not with Irbis.

A dog barked in the distance. Outside, the western sky had grown dark and cold.

"Look, I agree dat I'm your woman." Damn right she was. "I am not trying to escape dat. I go to Canada and everywhere you want, serious. I just want dat you think well about... about _all_ the consequences. I don't want dat you regret _me_."

Creed looked straight at the woman across the table.

"Ya listen t'me, and ya listen good. I do what I want, when I want to. I ain't got no regrets. If I want _you_ , then I have _you_. That's all there is to it. Ya're mine, Irbis, and if anyone's stupid enough ta even look at you the wrong way, they're..."

It was then the idea hit him: "...dead. Ya're _dead_!"

She frowned, not following him.

" _Irbis_ is dead," he explained. "There's no one gonna be lookin' fer _you_ 'cause you're Irbis and Irbis is dead. All I gotta do is make sure no one knows I got myself a new woman."

Yes, it was that simple. It really was. He'd start with the Mexican doc that had been taking care of Irbis. He'd kill her off... though probably not right now, to avoid connecting her death to her most recent patient. And he'd have to wipe out any register of those medical tests too. But again, in a couple of months. First, he'd settle the woman somewhere safe, get her a new identity... yupe, that was it.

"Ya ferget ya ever had that name, Irbis, ya hear? I'm smugglin' ya inta Canada an' then I'll get ya a new identity and... Hell, I'll even let ya choose yer own name!"

And he'd be schizophrenic about it till the limits of insanity! Yeah, he'd create an entire life for her, with detailed school and work records, facebook, twitter, everything!

"I want dat my new identity is Portuguese," the woman blurted eagerly.

What was that obsession with her previous identity, damnit? Although, it could open up some interesting possibilities.

"Portuguese-Canadian," he perfected. Or Canadian-Portuguese, whichever.

"And _please_ let me maintain my name of Isabel. I already had more names in half year dan… sei lá!" She gasped suddenly as an idea popped into her head. "Can I choose my apelide? My last name? _Please_?"

He nodded. He'd make it work. He'd split her life between the two countries and, if he played it right, he might even be able to get her actual official documents.

Are you serious, his appaled conscious still managed to prick him one last time.

Well, why the hell not? He deserved to have a woman pampering him, didn't he? Why did everyone else have a right to have their woman, their white picket fence home, their... fuck the children! Irbis, no, Isabel. Isabel couldn't have kids, anyway. She'd told the doctor that much when the doc had had suspicions that the heavy bleeding and cramps the girl had had a few hours after recovering consciousness had been caused by a spontaneous abortion. And why did he want to have kids? He didn't want a family, just a woman. One fucking woman all of his own. Was it that much to ask? Was it?!

Creed pointed a deadly serious finger at the woman opposite him.

"Ya're mine, ya hear? And there's no one gonna take ya away from me. Ever. I promise ya that much, girl. There's no one ever putting a finger on ya ever again."

It thrilled him to no end when she straightened herself like that, her eyes hard and determined. She was strong, his woman. So what if she couldn't fight? She had a spirit no one could break and a presence like no other.

"Don't make promises..." Creed growled at the uncalled for aggravation and she breathed out fiercely, glanced to the side, shook her head. "I believe you do all you can to protect me. Because I am your woman."

Damn right, she was.

* * *

If you have read through this story and enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review. Even if only a succinct 'I liked it', with 'it' referring to all of the 15 chapters. Or tell me which chapter you liked the most, or the least, as you prefer. But do drop me a note. (I answer all reviews, by the way.)

* * *

I'd like to take the chance to apologise to everyone who were expecting watching Creed go on a bloody rampage. It was part of the original plan but I just didn't like the way it came out, no matter how many times I rewrote it. So I gave up on it. Sorry if I disappointed you.

* * *

As I said at the beginning of this story, this is the last of the Irbis-Sabretooth Saga.

Unfortunately, my OC doesn't like to be idle and Creed likes the limelight so...

Next we've got House of M!

Have you read that issue where Magneto sends Sabretooth to kill the Black Panther? Didn't you think it was ridiculously easy the way the Wakandan king killed the supposedly deadly mutant? I did. So I figured there must be a reason for Sabretooth's sloppy performance. And, naturally, Irbis slipped into the stand alone.

Since M-Day was identified in X-Men vol.2 #191 as having happened on November 2nd, I shall post this 'anniversary' stand alone on the upcoming November 2nd.

And afterwards, my first Romy ever! ... Though Jubilee is set on seriously crashing their private party.


End file.
